THE ELAMITE WORLD

Amongst the civilizations to participate in the dynamic processes of contact and

interchange that gave rise to complex societies in the ancient Near East, Elam has
remained one of the most obscure, at times languishing in the background of schol-
arly inquiry. In recent years, however, an increasing body of academic publications
have acknowledged its relevance and suggested that its legacy was more considerable
and long-­lasting than previously estimated.
The Elamite World assembles a group of 40 international scholars to contribute
their expertise to the production of a solid, lavishly illustrated English-­language treat-
ment of Elamite civilization, covering topics such as its physical setting, historical
development, languages and people, material culture, art, science, religion and soci-
ety. Also treated are the legacy of Elam in the Persian empire and its presence in the
modern world.
This comprehensive and ambitious survey seeks for Elam, hardly a household
name, a noteworthy place in our shared cultural heritage. It will be both a valuable
introductory text for a general audience and a definitive reference source for students
and academics.

Javier Álvarez-­Mon, a native of Spain, holds degrees in ancient Near Eastern art
and archaeology from the École du Louvre (Paris) and the University of California
at Berkeley, respectively. A 2003 Fullbright-Hays fellow, he is presently Associate
Professor in Near Eastern Archaeology and Art at Macquarie University (Australia)
and 2014–2018 Future Fellow (Australian Research Council). His primary research
interests are the ancient Iranian civilizations of Elam and early Achaemenid Persia.
He has two forthcoming books, Monumental Reliefs of the Elamite Highlands and
The Art and Culture of Elam.

Gian Pietro Basello (PhD in the Ancient Near East 2005) is Tenured Lecturer (2018–)
at “L’Orientale” University of Naples, Italy, where he has been teaching Elamite lan-
guage since 2010. He has worked since 2003 on the Iranian-­Italian joint Project
DARIOSH (Digital Achaemenid Royal Inscription Open Schema Hypertext). His
researches are also devoted to ancient calendars and systems for recording time. His
website is www.elamit.net.

Yasmina Wicks completed her PhD ‘“Alas, Short is the Joy of Life!”: Elamite Funer-
ary Practice in the First Half of the First Millennium BCE’ (2017) at the University of
Sydney, Australia, where she remains a research affiliate. She has authored a mono-
graph Bronze ‘Bathtub’ Coffins in the Context of 8th-­6th Century BC Babylonian,
Assyrian and Elamite Funerary Practices (2015) and several articles on the material
culture of first millennium Elam.
 THE ROUTLEDGE WORLDS

THE ISLAMIC WORLD THE POSTCOLONIAL WORLD

Edited by Andrew Rippin Edited by Jyotsna G. Singh and
David D. Kim
THE WORLD OF POMPEII
Edited by Pedar W. Foss and John J. Dobbins THE SUMERIAN WORLD
Edited by Harriet Crawford
THE RENAISSANCE WORLD
Edited by John Jeffries Martin THE OCCULT WORLD
Edited by Christopher Partridge
THE GREEK WORLD
Edited by Anton Powell THE WORLD OF INDIGENOUS NORTH
AMERICA
THE ROMAN WORLD
Edited by Robert Warrior
Edited by John Wacher

THE HINDU WORLD THE WORLD OF THE REVOLUTIONARY

Edited by Sushil Mittal and Gene Thursby AMERICAN REPUBLIC
Edited by Andrew Shankman
THE WORLD OF THE AMERICAN WEST
Edited by Gordon Morris Bakken THE SHAKESPEAREAN WORLD
Edited by Jill L. Levenson and
THE ELIZABETHAN WORLD Robert Ormsby
Edited by Susan Doran and Norman Jones
THE WORLD OF COLONIAL AMERICA
THE OTTOMAN WORLD Edited by Ignacio Gallup-­Diaz
Edited by Christine Woodhead
THE MODERNIST WORLD
THE VICTORIAN WORLD Edited by Allana Lindgren and Stephen Ross
Edited by Marin Hewitt
Forthcoming:
THE ORTHODOX CHRISTIAN WORLD
Edited by Augustine Casiday THE WORLD OF GREAT ZIMBABWE
Edited by Innocent Pikirayi
Forthcoming:
THE MEDIEVAL WORLD,
THE MORMON WORLD SECOND EDITION
Edited by Carl Mosser, Richard Sherlock Edited by Peter Linehan, Janet L. Nelson,
THE BUDDHIST WORLD and Marios Costambeys
Edited by John Powers
THE EARLY CHRISTIAN WORLD,
THE ETRUSCAN WORLD SECOND EDITION
Edited by Jean MacIntosh Turfa Edited by Philip F. Esler

THE GOTHIC WORLD THE SWAHILI WORLD

Edited by Glennis Byron and Edited by Stephanie Wynne-­Jones and
Dale Townshend Adria LaViolette

THE ATLANTIC WORLD THE ELAMITE WORLD

Edited by D’Maris Coffman, Adrian Edited by Javier Álvarez-­Mon, 
Leonard, and William O’Reilly Gian Pietro Basello, and Yasmina Wicks
T H E E L A M I T E WO R L D

Edited by

Javier Álvarez-­Mon,
Gian Pietro Basello, and Yasmina Wicks
 First published 2018
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN

and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

© 2018 selection and editorial matter, Javier Álvarez-­Mon, Gian Pietro

Basello and Yasmina Wicks; individual chapters, the contributors

The right of Javier Álvarez-­Mon, Gian Pietro Basello and Yasmina Wicks to
be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for
their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77
and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or

utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or

registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.

British Library Cataloguing-­in-­Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data

A catalog record for this book has been requested

ISBN: 978-1-138-99989-3 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-1-315-65803-2 (ebk)

Typeset in Sabon
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
 CONTENTS

List of figuresix
List of tablesxvii
List of contributorsxviii

Introduction 1
Javier Álvarez-­Mon, Gian Pietro Basello, and Yasmina Wicks

PART I: IMAGINING E L AM :
TH E H ISTORY OF RESEARCH AND ITS S O U RCE S   9

  1 Ælam regio: Elam in Western scholarship from the Renaissance

to the late 19th century 11
Daniel T. Potts

  2 Elam and the Bible 27

Peter Dubovský

  3 France and Elam 41

Nicole Chevalier

  4 Between orientalism and Persomania: The presentation of the Iranian

collections at the Louvre 63
Marianne Cotty

  5 Elamite forgeries and the antiquities market 80

Oscar White Muscarella

v
 — Contents —

PART II: THE LAND AND P E O P L E S O F E L AM   9 7

  6 Physical geography and environment of Elam 99

Cameron A. Petrie, Morteza Djamali, and Matthew D. Jones

  7 Metals and mining 118

Barbara Helwing

  8 The peoples of Elam 146

Ran Zadok

  9 Elamites and Iranians 163

Jan Tavernier

PART III: ELAM THROU G H HIS TO RY   1 7 5

10 The birth of Elam in history 177

Piotr Steinkeller

11 The Old Elamite period 203

Luca Peyronel

12 Elam in the Middle Elamite period 232

Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi

13 The last centuries of Elam: the Neo-­Elamite period 249

Elynn Gorris and Yasmina Wicks

PART IV: CLOSE ENCO U NTE RS O N

TH E EASTERN AND WES TE RN F RO NTS   2 7 3

14 Great Domino games: from Elam, looking eastwards 275

Massimo Vidale

15 Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC 304

Ran Zadok

16 Elam and Assyria 323

Peter Dubovský

17 Propaganda and symbolism: representations of the Elamites at

the time of Ashurbanipal 340
Shahrokh Razmjou

vi
 — Contents —

PA RT V: LANGUAGE AND WRITING IN E L AM   3 6 1

18 Prehistoric administrative technologies and the ancient Near Eastern

redistribution economy: the case of greater Susiana 363
Denise Schmandt-­Besserat

19 The proto-­Elamite writing system 383

Jacob L. Dahl

20 Linear Elamite writing 397

François Desset

21 The Elamite language 416

Jan Tavernier

22 Writing in Elam 450

Jean-­Jacques Glassner

23 Elamite royal inscriptions 464

Florence Malbran-­Labat

24 Elamite administration 481

Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo

PART VI: THE MATERIAL CU LTU RE O F E L AM   5 0 5

25 Elamite architecture 507

Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi

26 Elamite ceramics 531

Bernadette K. McCall

27 The metal arts of Elam 550

François Bridey

28 The industry of vitreous materials in Elam 568

Noëmi Daucé

29 Origins of monumental sculpture in Elam: Two case studies 585

Holly Pittman

30 The sculptural arts of Elam 602

Javier Álvarez-­Mon

vii
 — Contents —

31 Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium 624

Enrico Ascalone

32 Glyptic in the 1st millennium 649

Mark B. Garrison

33 Elamite dress and textiles 673

Trudy S. Kawami

PART VII: ELAMITE S O CIE TY   6 9 5

34 Cuneiform culture and science, calendars, and metrology in Elam 697

Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone

35 Elamite religion and ritual 729

Enrique Quintana

36 Elamite funerary practices 741

Hermann Gasche and Steven W. Cole

37 Women of Elam 763

Aurelie Daems

38 Music 781
Bo Lawergren

PART VIII: THE LEGACY O F E L AM   8 0 1

39 Elamite administrative and religious heritage in the Persian heartland 803

Wouter F.M. Henkelman

40 The Elamite artistic heritage of Persia 829

Javier Álvarez-­Mon

41 Elam in Achaemenid studies 851

Adriano V. Rossi

Index863

viii
 FIGURES

3.1 Jane and Marcel Dieulafoy, Frédéric Houssaye and Charles Babin
at Susa 1885 43
3.2 Jacques de Morgan in the “Château” of Susa 48
3.3 Jacques de Morgan and Father Vincent Scheil 49
3.4 The Acropole and the “Château” of Susa in 1913 50
3.5 The statue of Queen Napir-­Asu in the “Château” of Susa,
January 1903 51
3.6 Yedda and André Godard and Roland de Mecquenem
at Susa around 1930 54
3.7 Family tomb of the Neo-­Elamite period. Excavations to the east of
the Achaemenid palace 54
3.8 Roman Ghirshman in front of the inscription commemorating the
arrival of Jacques de Morgan 70 years earlier, Susa 1967 55
3.9 Jean Perrot and Pierre Amiet in the “Château” of
Susa, 1977 57
4.1 Schematic layout of the Iranian rooms at the Louvre Museum 66
4.2 Inauguration of the Dieulafoy collections 67
4.3 Salle Dieulafoy in about 1910 68
4.4 Salle Dieulafoy, grande salle de Suse 69
4.5 Salle Dieulafoy, petite salle de Suse in about 1947 69
4.6 Salle de la Susiane. Mission J. de Morgan in the Assyrian gallery
(1909) 73
4.7 Rooms 3 and 4 in the exhibition Fouilles de Tello, de Suse et de
Syrie in the Musée de l’Orangerie (1930) 74
4.8 Salle Morgan II in about 1950 75
5.1 [a] Photograph of an Iranian forger’s shop (Muscarella); [b] Helmet
in the Metropolitan Museum of Art purchased in 1963 81
5.2 Bitumen Roundels 88
5.3 Objects from the Kalmakara Cave: [a] Silver Rhyton; [b] Lion
attacking a bull; [c] Silver rhyton 90

ix
 — Figures —

5.4 [a] Silver vessel, Christie’s sales catalogue, London 2011; [b] Bronze
nude male; [c] Copper/bronze finial; [d] Bitumen vessel 93
6.1 Map showing the topographic variation of the regions that
comprise ancient Elam, including the distribution of intermontane
valleys and plains and the routes that are likely to have linked them
together 100
6.2 Four palaeoclimate records from lakes in the Zagros over the last
5000 years. The records are shown in a north (top)- south (bottom)
gradient and include δ18O records from Lakes Mirabad, Zeribar
and Parishan and the Ti record from Neor Lake 104
6.3 Phytogeographical subdivision of Iran according to (a) Zohary
(1973) and (b) White and Léonard (1991). Note that the transition
from Irano-­Turanian flora to Saharo-­Sindian or Saharo-­Arabian/
Sudanian flora occurs within the ancient Elam; (c) shows the main
vegetation types found in SW Zagros and Khuzestan plain in the
Elam territory 105
6.4 Examples of different vegetation types: (a) Zagros oak woodland,
(b) Oak-­pistacio woodland (road from Borujen to Lordegan),
(c) Almond scrubs (near Jahrom), (d) Saharo-­Sindian ‘pseudo-­
savanna’ with Ziziphus spina-­christi scrubs (near Lar) 106
7.1 Map of Iran, showing known copper and silver deposits, and the
archaeological sites discussed in the text 119
7.2 Anthropomorphic figurines from Susa, 2nd millennium BCE, as an
example of casting in lost wax technique 131
7.3 Statues of worshippers in solid gold and silver from the so-­called
trouvaille de la statuette d’or at Susa 132
7.4 Middle Elamite Statue of Queen Napir-­Asu from Susa 134
7.5 Model of a Middle Elamite ritual scene from Susa, so-­called sit-­shamsi 135
7.6 Animal-­headed bracelet from the “tomb of the two Elamite
princesses” at Jubaji 138
10.1 Map of Middle Asia during the 3rd millennium BC 178
10.2 Statue of Eshpum 187
10.3 The roundlet of Naram-­Suen 190
12.1 The genealogy of the Igihalkids according to the inscription of
Shilhak-­Inshushinak 234
12.2 Genealogy of Igihalkid proposed by Goldberg 235
12.3 Monumental complexes at Haft Tappeh based on geophysical
prospections 239
12.4 Plan of the ancient city Al-­Untash-­Napirisha (today’s Chogha Zanbil) 242
12.5 Artworks from the ME II and III phases; a: Stele of Untash-­
Napirisha; b: Brick reliefs of Shilhak-­Inshushinak from Susa 243
13.1 The First Neo-­Elamite Dynasty 252
13.2 The Hubanid dynasty 254
13.3 Map indicating main sites mentioned in text 258
13.4 Plan of tell of Susa indicating excavation areas 259
13.5 Top: Vaulted mud-­brick tomb in the Apadana cut to the east of
Darius’ palace at Susa; bottom: characteristic NE I material 261

x
 — Figures —

13.6 Characteristic NE II material [a] ceramics; [b] glazed vessels and

figurine from Susa and [c] “inkwell” from Susa; [e, f, g, h] metal
objects from Jubaji and [d, i] metal objects from Arjan 262
13.7 Line drawing of Kul-­e Farah IV 264
14.1 The eastern polities of the 3rd millennium BC as reconstructed by
Piotr Steinkeller (1982), in a map drafted by F. Desset 276
14. 2 A silver goblet chased in the “Bactrian” style, in a private collection,
showing a cortege escorting a handcuffed prisoner 289
14.3 A drawing of the same silver goblet, with a rendering of the main
pattern 290
14.4 Drawing of the partial impression of a cylinder belonging to
Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon, found at Ur 293
14.5 Drawing of the impression of a cylinder seal belonging to Ishar-­Beli,
an officer of Tar’am-­Agade, daughter of Naram-­Sin, found at Urkesh 293
14.6 3D rendering of the impression of the cylinder of Ibni-­Sharrum,
scribe of king Shar-­kali-­sharri 294
14.7 Drawing of the impression of a cylinder seal of a scribe of Gudea 295
17.1 Top: Elamites rejoicing next to a river filled with bodies from the
battle of Til-­Tuba, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom:
Elamite envoys Umbadara and Nabu-­damiq at the Assyrian court,
Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh 342
17.2 Top: Elamite prisoners marching, Room F, North Palace, Nineveh;
bottom: A child with bow and quiver among Elamite troops, North
Palace, Nineveh 344
17.3 Top: An Elamite with his Elamite style sword submits to the newly
installed king Ummanigash, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh;
bottom: Elamite female musicians, Room 33, Southwest Palace,
Nineveh 346
17.4 Top: Teumman and his son injured under their wrecked chariot,
Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom: An Assyrian soldier
decapitating Teumman, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh 348
17.5 Top: Ummanigash introduced as new king to the Elamites by an
Assyrian official, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom:
The capture scene of Ummanaldash, Southwest Palace, Nineveh 350
17.6 Top: Crouching leopard with spots, Southwest Palace, Nineveh;
bottom: Water stream with fish and snake(?), depicted on the
capture scene of Ummanaldash, Southwest Palace, Nineveh 352
17.7 Top: An Elamite royal member pleading to Ashurbanipal for
protection from an approaching lion, Room S (Panel 10), North
Palace, Nineveh; bottom: Two Elamite kings being forced to serve
Ashurbanipal, fallen into Room S, North Palace, Nineveh 354
17.8 Top: Detail of the Elamite king with his round-­shaped royal hat,
North Palace, Nineveh; bottom: Hack marks made over Assyrian
soldier to stop him from killing Tammaritu, Room 33, Southwest
Palace, Nineveh 356
18.1 A. The ritual delivery of offerings at the gate of Eanna, the temple
of Inanna in Uruk, Mesopotamia. Carvings on the Uruk stone

xi
 — Figures —

vessel; B and C. Susa: the storage of goods in public warehouses.

Sealings; D. Sealing; E. Sealing 364
18.2 Administrative Technology at Chogha Bonut. Plain Tokens 366
18.3 Personage belonging to the period of the Susa I temple 369
18.4 Administrative Technology at Susa. Complex tokens 371
18.5 Token collections of Uruk and Susa 373
18.6 Tokens series 374
18.7 Sealings picturing the En, Priest-­King of Uruk, in Greater Susiana.
A. Chogha Mish; B. Susa 376
18.8 Envelope from Susa, Sb 1940 377
19.1 Sb 15188. Drawing of proto-­Elamite tablet recording large
amounts of cereals. Note that in publications proto-­Elamite tablets
are rotated 90° CCW, to conform with the direction of publication
of all early cuneiform tablets 389
19.2 Sb 22232. Proto-­Elamite tablet with scribal design 392
20.1 The 32 Linear Elamite inscriptions known in 2015 400
20.2 Near Eastern writing systems map showing between the second half
of the 3rd and the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC the sites
where have been found cuneiform texts, Indus writing inscriptions,
LE inscriptions and the recently discovered geometric writing 401
20.3 LE signs list 403
20.4 Different writings of dIn/PUZUR šušinak and texts where they are
displayed. 406
20.5 LE signs 70 and 94–95 and texts where they are displayed 406
20.6 LE inscriptions A’ and graphical variation of the LE sign in between
Susian texts and inscription A’ 407
20.7 Graphical variants of the LE sign in 407
20.8 The Susian EL inscriptions A/B/C/E and F/G/H (and U?) and their
semantic segments 409
20.9 Susian EL texts A/B/C/E, F/G/H and I 410
20.10 List of the accepted values for LE signs 412
22.1 Seal from Oman; proto-­Elamite sign m453 451
22.2 Comparison between Urukean and proto-­Elamite signs 453
22.3 The Urukean sign é, líl, and kid; the proto-­Elamite sign m145 453
22.4 The signs maš and udu; and the signs m006, m006a, and m197 454
22.5 The signs kalam and gan; the signs m206 and m217 454
25.1 Schematic overview of two building stages of the “maison du culte”
in Ville Royale A XV 508
25.2 Schematic plan of large houses in Ville Royale A XIV and A XIII.
a: House of Rabibi in Ville Royale A XIV; b: “East Complex” of
A XIV; c: “East Complex” of A XIII 509
25.3 Schematic variations of the main large hall in different levels in
Ville Royale at Susa. a: First stage of the “maison du culte” in VR
A XV; b: Second stage of the “maison du culte” in VR A XV; c:
House of Rabibi in VR A XIV; d: “East Complex” in VR A XIII-XII 510
25.4 Building in the level A XII in Ville Royale at Susa 511

xii
 — Figures —

25.5 Palaces at Chogha Zanbil; a: The reconstruction of the Palace 2

and preserved dwelling on the southeast of the courtyard I; b: The
ground plan of the Palace 3 at Chogha Zanbil 513
25.6 Houses at Chogha Zanbil from a: the ME II period; and b: the
beginning of the 1st millennium 515
25.7 Administration building from the second building level (ME I) at
Haft Tappeh 516
25.8 Public construction from the ME III period at Tall-­e Malyan 517
25.9 Two gate variations at Chogha Zanbil 518
25.10 Tomb buildings from the Middle Elamite period. a: Haft Tappeh;
b: Chogha Zanbil, underground tombs are marked in grey 520
25.11 Reconstruction of the path taken during the mortuary ceremony 522
25.12 Spatial order of the Middle Elamite tomb buildings and the
mythological relationship of their different sections 522
25.13 Planning aspects of the middle wall area. a: The relationship of the
tower Nur kibrat to the ziqqurrat in the planning of the middle
wall; b: The dimensions of the different sides of the middle wall 524
25.14 Two building stages of the ziqqurrat at Chogha Zanbil 525
25.15 Different temple types at Chogha Zanbil. a: The temples on the
northwestern side of the ziqqurrat; b: The complex in the eastern
corner of the middle wall 527
28.1 Monumental glazed terracotta sculpture: temple gate guardians:
[a] Lion from Susa; [b] Griffin from Choga Zanbil; [c] Bull from
Choga Zanbil 575
28.2 Glazed knobbed plaques from Choga Zanbil. Plaques in situ in
room 26; Plaque inscribed with the name Untash-­Napirisha 577
28.3 Monumental facade of moulded glazed bricks from Susa
representing a royal couple, possibly Shilhak-­Inshushinak and his
queen (1150–1120 BC) 579
28.4 Neo-­Elamite faience statuettes from Susa. [a] Male worshiper;
[b, c] Horse and bull knobs 582
29.1 [a] Male statue. Inscribed. Eshpum; [b] Male statue holding goat;
[c] Statue without goat 587
29.2 [a, b, e] Puzur Inshushinak galet; [c, d] Line-­drawing
reconstructions of restored galet Sb 6 and Sb 177 593
29.3 [a] View from the top of the Puzur Inshushinak galet; [b] Detail of
erasing of the inscription; [c] Cup, with lion confronting bull; three
snakes for handle; [d] Lions from the statue of the goddess Narundi 594
29.4 [a] Line drawing of steatite canister with lion and bull. Confiscated
from looters. Kerman Museum; [b] Carved bowl from Shahdad;
[c] Seal impression from Konar Sandal South Tr. V-402 no. 40;
[d] Baked brick with Linear Elamite Inscription from
second citadel level of Konar Sandal South 597
30.1 4th millennium and early 3rd millennium terracotta and stone
miniature sculpture 603
30.2 3rd millennium relief plaques and sculpture in limestone and bitumen 606
30.3 3rd millennium monumental sculpture 608

xiii
 — Figures —

0.4
3 3rd millennium monumental stone sculpture 610
30.5 Old Elamite. Kurangun monumental rock relief and terracotta sculpture 612
30.6 Middle Elamite. Terracotta and faience sculpture 615
30.7 Middle Elamite. Monumental stone sculpture and highland rock relief 616
30.8 Neo-­Elamite sculpture. [a, b, c] relief plaques; [d] base of sculpture;
[e] stele of Atta-­Hamiti Inshushinak; and [f] Neo-­Elamite
monumental rock relief from Kul-­e Farah (KF1) 618
30.9 Neo-­Elamite highland reliefs from [a] Kul-­e Farah (KFIV); and
[b] Naqsh-­e Rustam 621
1.1
3 Regional developments of glyptic art during the Old-­Elamite period 625
31.2 [a-­b] Susa A seal impressions from Susa; [c-­d] Uruk-­type seal
impressions from Susa II; [e-­f] Proto-­Elamite seals from Susa III;
[g-­h] Early Dynastic seals (Early group) from Susa IVA; [i-­j] Early
Dynastic seals (Later group) from Susa IVA 626
31.3 [a-­c] Konar Sandal sealings; [d] Seal from Shahdad; [e-­f] Awanite seals
from Susa IVB; [g-­h] Piedmont seals from Susa IVB; [i-­j] Early South-­
Eastern Iranian seals from Shahdad; [k] Early South-­Eastern Iranian
seal from Tepe Yahya; [l] Early South-Eastern Iranian seal from Jalalabad 630
31.4 [a-­b] Early Old-­Elamite seals from Susa; [c] Transitional Old-­
Elamite seal from ex Pahlavi Collection; [d] Transitional Old-­
Elamite seal from Susa; [e-­f] Classic Old-­Elamite seals from Susa;
[g] Late Old-­Elamite seal from ex Mazda Collection; [h] Late Old-­
Elamite seal from ex Pahlavi Collection 634
31.5 [a] Early Anshanite seal from Susa; [b] Early Anshanite seal from
Private Collection; [c-­d] Classic Anshanite seals from Susa;
[e] Eastern’ Anshanite seals from Susa; [f] ‘Eastern’ Anshanite
seals from Choga Mish; [g-­h] Late Anshanite seal from Susa 637
31.6 [a] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Tepe Yahya; [b] Late
South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Gonur depe; [c] Late South-­
Eastern Iranian seal from Susa; [d] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal
from Tôd; [e] Compartmented bronze stamp seals from Susa; [f]
Pseudo-­Indus cylinder seal; [g] Pseudo-­Indus cylinder seal from
Konar Sandal South; [h] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Bactrian-Harappan
handled stamp-­cylinder seal from Jalalabad; [i-­j] Anshanite-­
Dilmunite cylinder seals from Susa; [k-­m] Elamite-­Indus rounded
stamp seals; [n] Persian Gulf type seal from Tepe Yahya 640
31.7 [a] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana seal/amulet from Tepe Yahya;
[b] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana seal/amulet from Susa;
[c] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana seal/amulet from antiquary
market; [d] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana handled stamp seal
from Tepe Yahya; [e-­f] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana handled
stamp seals from Shahdad; [g] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana
handled stamp seal from Tepe Giyan; [h] Konar Sandal seal
from Trench V; [i-­n] Anshanite-­Dilmunite rounded stamp seals
from Susa 642
31.8 [a-­b] Middle-­Elamite seals from Susa; [c-­e] Middle-­Elamite sealings
from Haft Tepe; [f-­h] Middle-­Elamite seal from Choga Zanbil 643

xiv
 — Figures —

2.1 Amiet no. 16

3 660
32.2 Seal of Kuraš the Anzanite, Son of Šešpeš, preserved in the
Fortification archive at Persepolis (PFS 93*) 662
33.1 The garb of Puzur-­Inshushinak 676
33.2 [a] Seal impression of sukkalmah Tan-­Uli from Susa. no. Sb 8748;
[b] Offering figures of gold from Susa. no. Sb 2759 (front) and Sb
2758 (back) 679
33.3 Middle Elamite female garbs. [a] Faience (?) figure of standing
female from Choga Zanbil. Louvre, acc. no. Sb 5089; [b]
Central section of the stone stele of Untash Napirisha from [c]
Bronze statue of queen Napir Asu from Susa. Louvre, acc. no.
Sb 2731 680
33.4 [a] Cylinder seal belonging to Ginadu, an official (puhu-­teppu);
[b] Royal family in the Relief of Shekaft-­e Salman II 681
33.5 [a] Engraved chalcedony of Shilhak Inshushinak. British Museum
113886; [b] Fragmentary bitumen relief of seated female from Susa;
[c] Elamite rock relief at Naqsh-­e Rustam 685
33.6 [a] Depictions of King Teumman in the battle of the Ûla(-)ya River
at Tell Tuba; [b] King Umanaldash/Humban-­Haltaš III; [c] Detail of
relief of Kul-­e Farah I 688
36.1 Map of Iran showing archaeological sites mentioned in text 742
36.2 Susa, Ville Royale. Ghirshman’s Chantier A. Levels XII ancien and
récent (ca. 1500–1440 BC) 744
37.1 [a] clay funerary head from Susa; [b-­d] naked female terracotta
figurines from Susa 765
37.2 [a] painted clay head from Kabnak; [b] ivory figurine from Susa;
[c] faience figurine from Choga Zanbil 767
37.3 [a] Shikaft-­i Salman rock relief depicting Elamite royal family;
[b] la fileuse bitumen relief 770
37.4 Seal and sealing images showing women partaking in everyday
activities: [a] carpet weaving; [b] dairy processing; [c] milking a goat 773
37.5 Terracotta plaques and figurine: [a] naked couple in bed; [b] naked
woman in bed; [c] seated breastfeeding woman; [d] standing
breastfeeding woman 774
38.1 [a] Impression of cylinder seal from Chogha Mish ca. 3200 BCE.
[b] Consecration plaque from Susa, ca. 2750–2600 BCE. Louvre
Museum Sb14 782
38.2 [a] Arched harps from the 3rd millennium. [a.a] Susa, 2700 BCE;
detail based on the consecration plaque shown in Figure 38.1b;
[a.b] Khafajah, Mesopotamia, 2700 BCE; detail of a consecration
plaque; [a.c] Bismaya, Mesopotamia, 2900–2650 BCE; part
of a chlorite vessel from Bismaya; [b] Bull lyres from the 3rd
millennium; [b.a] Shown on a plaque made of shell and lapis
lazuli mounted on the front of a bull-­lyre in University Museum,
University of Pennsylvania, ca. 2450 BCE; [b.b] Impression of a
cylinder seal from Susa, ca. 2450 BCE; [b.c] Impression of a stamp
seal from Failaka, ca. 1900 BCE 784

xv
 — Figures —

8.3 Impressions of cylinder seals from Susa, ca. 2700 BCE

3 787
38.4 Elamite and Mesopotamian angular harps  788
38.5 [a] Animal orchestra from Susa, 8th–7th century BCE; [b] Line
drawing of the animal orchestra shown on the large orthostat from
Tell Halaf, 9th to 8th century BCE 790
38.6 Rock carving of harp ensembles at Kul-­e Farah, 9th–7th century
BCE. The figure is based on Lawergren 2001: 527, Figure 7 793
38.7 [a] Elamite orchestra marching outside the city of Madaktu.
Wall relief in an Assyrian palace, Nineveh, 660–650 BCE; [b]
Ashurbanipal and companion drinking to the music of a large
orchestra. Wall relief in the North Palace at Nineveh, 645–635
BCE; [c] A scene inscribed in a bronze bowl from Arjan, ca. 650 BCE 795
40.1 [a] First known photograph of the winged protective genius from
Gate R at Pasargadae taken by F. Stolze in 1874; [b] line drawing 832
40.2 Line drawings of the Elamite kings Te-­Ummman; and [b] Humban-­
Haltaš III; Representations of Persian royal bodyguards in different
media; [c] glazed tiles from Susa; [d] slab relief from Persepolis; [e]
line-­drawing of king Xerxes; [f] the Persian king under an umbrella
at Persepolis 833
40.3 Façade, elevation and section of the Tomb of Darius I at Naqsh-­e
Rostam 834
40.4 Composite line-­drawings of the apadana staircase reliefs, North wing 838
40.5 Throne Hall. Audience scene and guards of the eastern doorway in
the northern wall, west jamb 839
40.6 Statue of Darius 840
40.7 Relief of Kul-­e Farah IV, panel A 841
40.8 Relief of Kul-­e Farah III, southern face 842
40.9 Relief of Kul-­e Farah VI 843

xvi
 TABLES

9.1 Elamite and Iranian names in MDP texts 168

11.1 Most probable sequence of Elamite rulers during the Old Elamite
period – Sukkalmah dynasty 218
12.1 Proposed dating systems for the Middle Elamite period 233
12.2 Relative chronology of different building levels in excavated areas
at Haft Tappeh 240
13.1 Various periodizations proposed for the Neo-­Elamite period 250
14.1 Historical evidence of interaction between the Mesopotamian states
and the eastern polities across the Iranian Plateau, ca. 2900/2800
to 1800 BC. The ethnonym of Marhaši, for simplicity, is here
maintained in place of the Akkadian Barahshum 281
14.2 Material evidence of interaction between a series of excavated early
urban poles of the Iranian Plateau in the second half of the 3rd
millennium (ca. 2600–1800 BC) 283
16.1 Reports on military encounters between Assyria and Elam in the
royal inscriptions 331
18.1 Plain token types and subtypes 367
20.1 List of the 32 Linear Elamite inscriptions 398
20.2 Distribution of the Linear Elamite signs in the 32 inscriptions 404
26.1 Elamite ceramic characteristics by phase 539
31.1 Comparative analysis among areas, periods and classes of seal
production 645
34.1 Material and shapes of weights from Susa 709
34.2 The local system at Susa 710
34.3 Metrological distribution of weights from Susa not belonging to the
local system 711
34.4 Weights and possible-­weights* from Haft Tepe 713
34.5 Weights or possible-­weights from the Iranian plateau 715
34.6 Weights from Baluchistan, Margiana and Makran coast 718
39.1 List of deities mentioned more than once in the fortification archive 817

xvii
 CONTRIBUTORS

Javier Álvarez-­Mon, a native of Spain, holds degrees in ancient Near Eastern art and
archaeology from the École du Louvre (Paris) and the University of California at
Berkeley, respectively. A 2003 Fullbright-Hays fellow, he is presently Associate Pro-
fessor in Near Eastern Archaeology and Art at Macquarie University (Australia) and
2014–2018 Future Fellow (Australian Research Council). His primary research inter-
ests are the ancient Iranian civilizations of Elam and early Achaemenid Persia. He has
two forthcoming books, Monumental Reliefs of the Elamite Highlands (Eisenbraun-
s)and The Art and Culture of Elam (Routledge).
Enrico Ascalone, University of Copenhagen (Saxo Institute), was qualified as Asso-
ciate Professor in “Cultures of the Ancient Near East” in 2014. Author of books
on World Archaeology (1999), Archaeological Methodology (2001 and 2004), Near
Eastern and Mediterranean Weighing Systems (2006 and 2011), Mesopotamian Civ-
ilization (2005), Archaeology of Ancient Iran (2006 and 2015), Eblaite Weighing Sys-
tem (2006), Elamite Glyptic Art (2011), and Oxus-­Jiroft Intercultural Relations (in
press), he has been co-­director of the Joint-­Archaeological Mission at Qaleh Kutchek
(Jiroft Valley) and is now the director of the Multidisciplinary Archaeological Italian
Project at Shahr-­i Sokhta (Sistan-­va-­Baluchistan).
Gian Pietro Basello (PhD in the Ancient Near East 2005) is Tenured Lecturer (2018–)
at “L’Orientale” University of Naples, Italy, where he has been teaching Elamite lan-
guage since 2010. He has worked since 2003 on the Iranian-­Italian joint Project
DARIOSH (Digital Achaemenid Royal Inscription Open Schema Hypertext). His
researches are also devoted to ancient calendars and systems for recording time. His
website is www.elamit.net.
François Bridey is curator in charge of the collections of Iran and Central Asia at the
Near Eastern Antiquities Department of the Louvre Museum and teaches Art and
Archaeology of Ancient Iran at the École du Louvre in Paris. Among his numerous
research projects are a study of Susa I ceramics and the preparation of a catalogue of
the metal works and artifacts from Susa and Chogha Zanbil housed in the Louvre.
Nicole Chevalier is a former member of the Department of Oriental Antiquities at the
Louvre Museum (France). She was the editor of Une mission en Perse 1897–1912 (1997)
xviii
 — Contributors —

and the author of La recherche archéologique française au Moyen-­Orient 1842–1947

(2002) and Chroniques des premières missions archéologiques françaises à Suse d’après
les photographies et les mémoires de l’architecte Maurice Pillet 1912–1913 (2009).
Steven W. Cole (PhD, Mesopotamian History, University of Chicago) is a Mesopota-
mian historian. His focus is Babylonia, and his scholarly interests are in the compara-
tive study of the interactions of tribes and towns, the social and political phenomena
of frontiers, and the changing ecological conditions of the lower Mesopotamian
plain. Over the past two decades, Cole has been engaged in a collaborative, multi-
disciplinary attempt to establish the locations and characteristics of the Euphrates,
Tigris, Karun, and Kerkhah River systems of lower Iraq and southwest Iran through
antiquity. He is particularly interested in how these systems influenced the formation
of political institutions and the structure of social groups. Cole is the author or co-­
author of four books. Prior to joining the Northwestern University faculty, where he
is currently Senior Lecturer of Classics, he held appointments at Harvard University,
the University of Helsinki, and the University of Chicago.
Marianne Cotty is head of the Resource and Documentation Center of the Depart-
ment of Near Eastern Antiquities of the Louvre, where she has prepared major exhi-
bitions on Mesopotamian and Arabian archaeology. She received a postgraduate
degree on the Bronze Age Bactrian seals from the faculty of Rennes, France. As an
archaeologist specialized in the Arabian Peninsula and Indo-­Iranian sphere, she has
been involved in several international archaeological expeditions in Oman, Saudi
Arabia, Uzbekistan, Iran, and at the present time, Bahrein.
Aurelie Daems holds a PhD from Ghent University in Near Eastern Archaeology. Her
research includes the analysis of women in pre-­Islamic Iran, the reassessment of func-
tions and uses of human figurines in the later prehistory, as well as issues that engen-
der transformations and change through time. She has published articles in numerous
peer-­reviewed journals and written book chapters, and has excavated throughout
a large part of the Near East. She has been editor-­in-­chief of Collect. Currently she
is dividing her professional time as a teaching assistant at Ghent University and as
editor-­in-­chief of MER. Paper Kunsthalle.
Jacob L. Dahl is Associate Professor of Assyriology at the University of Oxford. He
has written on early Babylonian socio-­economic history, early Near Eastern writing
systems, and Sumerian literature. He works on the decipherment of proto-­Elamite,
the last undeciphered writing system from the ancient Near East with a substantial
number of sources (more than 1,600 tablets divided between the Louvre Museum
and the National Museum of Iran). Professor Dahl is a co-­PI of the Cuneiform Digi-
tal Library Initiative http://cdli.ucla.edu, and he has led recent advances in the image
capture of cuneiform tablets and cylinder seals.
Noëmi Daucé is heritage curator currently in charge of archaeology for the
Agence France Muséums, which carries out the Louvre Abu Dhabi project. In
the Iranian domain, her principal research has concentrated on the production
of Achaemenid decorative bricks from the collections conserved in the Louvre, in
Tehran, and in Susa. She also coordinated the online publication of the reports
of Roland de Mecquenem, director of the archaeological mission at Susa between
1912 and 1939.
xix
 — Contributors —

François Desset (PhD Université Paris 1 Panthéon Sorbonne) is a French archaeolo-

gist specialized in Chalcolithic and Bronze Age Iran (4th–2nd millennium BC). Com-
mitted for several years to the archaeological project of the Halil Rud valley (Kerman
province), he currently conducts research at Tehran University, notably on the unde-
ciphered Iranian writing systems.
Morteza Djamali is a research scientist (CR1) at the CNRS. He obtained his PhD
from the Aix-­Marseille Université (IMBE) in 2008 in the field of Population Biology
and Ecology (specialising in Quaternary Palynology) and has worked at the Mediter-
ranean Institute for Biodiversity and Ecology (IMBE) in Aix-­en-­Provence since 2011.
His main expertise is the pollen analysis of sediments, and his research is focused on
Quaternary plant ecology in the Middle East with a particular focus on the Iranian
Plateau, exploring the role of human activities and late Quaternary climate change on
the vegetation and plant diversity in the Irano-­Turanian region.
Peter Dubovský (born 1965) studied biblical exegesis at the Pontifical Biblical Insti-
tute (SSL, 1999) and obtained his ThD in 2005 at Harvard Divinity School. He has
authored numerous articles and book chapters, and a monograph entitled Hezekiah
and the Assyrian Spies: Reconstruction of the Neo-­Assyrian Intelligence Services and
Its Significance for 2 Kings 18–19 (2006, Biblica et Orientalia 49. Roma). He is
currently dean at the Pontifical Biblical Institute in Rome and professor of the Old
Testament and history.
Mark B. Garrison holds the Alice Pratt Brown Distinguished Professorship in Art
History in the Department of Art and Art History at Trinity University in San Anto-
nio, Texas, USA. His primary research interests are the glyptic arts of ancient Iran
and Iraq in the first half of the first millennium BC. He specializes in the glyptic
preserved in two large archives from Persepolis, the Persepolis Fortification archive
and the Persepolis Treasury archive. His research has focused upon social aspects of
glyptic production in workshops in Persepolis. His publications have also addressed
the emergence and development of royal ideology in glyptic at Persepolis, religious
imagery in Achaemenid art, and the relationship of glyptic of the Achaemenid period
with earlier glyptic traditions in Assyria, Babylonia, and Elam.
Hermann Gasche (PhD, Pratiques funéraires en Mésopotamie et en Susiane, ephe,
Paris) is an architect and archaeologist. He was field director at Susa, Bard-­e Neshan-
deh and Masjid-­e Soleiman (Iran) between 1962 and 1972, at Tell ed-­Der, Sippar/Abu
Habbah, Abu Qubur and Habl-­as Sahr (Iraq) between 1970 and 1990, director of the
excavations at Akhtamir (Armenia) between 1993 and 1996, and of an archaeolog-
ical and environmental survey of southern Khuzistan in 2004. He was also director
of the first phase of the Belgian Project Mesopotamian History and Environment and
editor – with L. De Meyer – of the Series I: Northern Akkad Project Reports (1987–
1996), II: Memoirs (1989–2014) and III: Texts (1991–2002), and of the Occasional
Publications that appeared in 1991 and 1994.
Grazia Giovinazzo (PhD in Philological Sciences of Ancient Western Asia 1987;
Researcher in Assyriology 1997) studied Assyriology with Luigi Cagni at the Orien-
tal Institute of Naples and, later, Elamite language with François Vallat at the French
CNRS. She held one of the few university courses of the Elamite language in the

xx
 — Contributors —

world from 1999 until her retirement in 2010 at “L’Orientale” University of Naples.
Among her many articles and publications is 60 testi economici della Mesopotamia
datati al regno di Ciro (Napoli: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1987).
Jean-­Jacques Glassner, born in 1944, is a French Assyriologist who specialises in the
Mesopotamian world and cuneiform script. He is Director of research at the CNRS
and has taught at the universities of Strasbourg, Poitiers, Geneva, Jerusalem, École
Pratique des Hautes Etudes, and Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales in
Paris. Among his approximately 300 publications are La Chute d’Akkadé. L’événe-
ment et sa mémoire, Chroniques mésopotamiennes (translated into English), Ecrire
en Mésopotamie (translated into English), La Tour de Babylone, Que reste-­t-­il de la
Mésopotamie, and Dictionnaire archéologique de la Bible (dir.).
Elynn Gorris is a Postdoctoral Researcher of Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the Uni-
versité catholique de Louvain (Louvain-­la-­Neuve, Belgium). In 2014 she defended her
PhD on Neo-­Elamite political history and chronology. Her current research focuses
on the diplomatic and economical interaction between Elam, Mesopotamia, and the
Arabian Peninsula during the first half of the 1st millennium BC.
Barbara Helwing is Professor of Middle Eastern Archaeology at the University of
Sydney. She holds a PhD from the University of Heidelberg, and a habilitation from
the University of Tübingen. Her research interests focus on archaeometallurgy and on
early complex societies and states in Southwestern Asia. She has excavated widely in
Iran and Turkey and has explored the archaeology of these countries during her pre-
vious positions as Head of the Tehran Branch of the German Archaeological Institute
and as lecturer at Bilkent University in Ankara.
Wouter F.M. Henkelman is Associate Professor of Elamite and Achaemenid studies at
the École Pratique des Hautes Études (Paris). He is presently engaged in the edition
and publication of a larger part of the Elamite tablets from the Persepolis Fortifica-
tion Archive. In addition, he heads the Bisotun Project, set up to produce new edi-
tions and exhaustive commentaries on the Bisotun inscriptions and relief of Darius I.
“The Other Gods Who Are,” his 2008 monograph based on the Fortification Archive,
extensively treats the subject of Elamite-­Iranian acculturation.
Matthew D. Jones is Associate Professor in Quaternary Science in the School of Geog-
raphy at the University of Nottingham, United Kingdom. Matt’s research focuses on
the interaction of people and the environment, particularly the quantity and quality
of the water within it, including projects in modern-­day Jordan, Turkey, and Iran.
Matt’s other interests lie in developing methods to better quantify by how much
water availability has changed through time, particularly through the use of oxygen
isotope palaeohydrology.
Trudy S. Kawami, retired Director of Research for the Arthur M. Sackler Founda-
tion, NYC, received her PhD in art history and archaeology from Columbia Univer-
sity, where she specialized in the art of ancient Western Asia. As an undergraduate,
she spent the summer of 1963 in Esfahan and was mesmerized by Iran. She is the
author of Monumental Art of the Parthian Period in Iran (Leiden: 1987; the Persian-­
language edition 2013), Ancient Iranian Ceramics from the Arthur M. Sackler Col-
lections (New York: 1992), and Breath of Heaven, Breath of Earth: Ancient Near

xxi
 — Contributors —

Eastern Art from American Collections (University of Washington Press, 2013), and
numerous articles.
Bo Lawergren is a Professor Emeritus at Hunter College and The Graduate Center of
the City University of New York. He has a PhD in Nuclear Physics from The Austra-
lian National University, Canberra, but branched into Acoustics and Archaeology of
Music 30 years ago. He has written chapters on music for The Cambridge History of
China (Six Dynasties Period) and The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt; and
many articles in  Encyclopædia Iranica,  The New Grove Dictionary of Music and
Musicians (2001), and others.
Florence Malbran-­Labat turned to the ancient Near East after her classical studies.
Upon entering the CNRS, she oriented her research towards the fields of history,
linguistics, and epigraphy and her numerous published works include a 1995 study
of Elamite royal inscriptions (Les inscriptions royales de Suse). A  member of the
Archéorient team and the Mission Archéologique Syro-­Française de Ras Shamra-­
Ougarit, she participated in the publication of texts discovered at Ugarit. She taught
Akkadian at the University of Lyon-­III, in Madrid in the framework of CSIC, and at
the Institut Catholique de Paris, of which she was director. She is currently under-
taking the publication of the unpublished texts from the Ville Royale Chantier A of
Susa and a re-­edition of the Susian contracts published in the 1930s by Vincent Scheil.
Bernadette K. McCall is an honorary affiliate with the Department of Archaeology
and the Centre for Classical and Near Eastern Studies of Australia (CCANESA) at the
University of Sydney where she completed her PhD research on settlement patterns
in the southern Zagros Mountains. As a result of investigations in several small val-
leys that lie between ancient Anshan and Susa, the discovery of undocumented sites
with Elamite occupation led to an interest in the role this region played in social and
political interaction between lowland and highland populations during the Bronze to
Iron Age periods. As well as maintaining interests in the archaeology of southwest-
ern Iran and the associated ceramics, the author also specialises in the study of glass
vessels from the Achaemenid to modern periods in Cyprus and the Persian Gulf, and
is currently investigating the impact of globalisation on traditional crafts and trading
networks in the pre-­modern world.
Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi studied Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, Assyriology
and Cultural Anthropology at the Albert-­Ludwigs-­University of Freiburg (Germany)
graduating with a Master’s degree in 1994. He obtained his PhD in 1997 with a the-
sis on the topic of funerary rites of ancient Mesopotamia in the 1st millennium BC
at the Eberhard Karls University of Tübingen (Germany). His habilitation in 2013
at the Johannes Gutenberg-­University of Mainz (Germany) dealt with the planning
aspects of the official architecture and city structure at Chogha Zanbil. Since 1999
he has been head of archaeological investigations and excavations at Chogha Zanbil
and Haft Tappeh.
Oscar White Muscarella received his BA in history at CCNY (1955) and his PhD
in Classical Archaeology under Rodney S. Young in 1965 at the University of Penn-
sylvania. He obtained a Fullbright in Greece (1958–1959) and later functioned as
a Near Eastern archaeologist, digging in Turkey and Iran. He has published four
books, edited several more, and written many articles about his excavations as well
xxii
 — Contributors —

as on ancient history, artifacts, art, chronologies, and forgeries. He taught history at

CCNY (1960–1964) and then became a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art,
Department of Ancient Near Eastern Art (1964–2009).
Cameron A. Petrie is Reader in South Asian and Iranian Archaeology, and he is
involved with archaeological fieldwork in India, Iran and Pakistan. He has been with
the Division of Archaeology in Cambridge since 2005, when he came to Cambridge
as the Research Councils UK Fellow in South Asian and Iranian Archaeology. Prior to
that he was the Katherine and Leonard Woolley Junior Research Fellow at Somerville
College Oxford (2003–2006), and was appointed to that position after finishing his
PhD at the University of Sydney (1998–2002).
Luca Peyronel is Associate Professor of Near Eastern Archaeology and Art History
at University IULM of Milan. He has been Director of the Italian Archaeological
Expedition in the Erbil Plain, Kurdistan, Iraq since 2013 and carried out excavations
at Ebla and Tell Tuqan in Syria since 1991. He is director of ArcheoFrame, the Lab
of communication and enhancement of cultural heritage of the University IULM and
editor in chief of Archeostorie. Journal of Public Archaeology. Author of four books
and more than 80 scientific articles on the history and archaeology of the Ancient
Near East, his main interests include ancient economics, craft and technologies in
the Near East, and cultural interactions and commerce in the Persian Gulf, Iran and
Mesopotamia.
Holly Pittman is Bok Family Professor in the Humanities and Professor of History of
Art at the University of Pennsylvania, and Curator, Near East Section, Penn Museum.
She has published on the art and archaeology of ancient Iran as well as more broadly
on the glyptic and other arts of the Ancient Near East. She has excavated across the
Middle East, and is currently engaged with ongoing projects at Konar Sandal South
in southeastern Iran, Arslantepe in eastern Turkey, and al Hiba (ancient Lagash) in
southern Iraq.
Daniel T. Potts is Professor of Ancient Near Eastern Archaeology and History at
the Institute for the Study of the Ancient World (New York University). His interest
in Elam dates to the very beginning of his studies and has grown over the years. As
a contributor to the fields of Iranian archaeology and history, he has written on a
wide range of topics, extending chronologically from prehistory through the recent
past. He has excavated in both southeastern and southwestern Iran and is currently
preparing a book on the northwest Iranian Zagros and the interactions of its ancient
populations with their neighbors to the north and west.
Enrique Quintana specializes in the study of Sumerian, Akkadian, Elamite, and Egyp-
tian languages and is a regular collaborator with the Instituto del Próximo Oriente
(IPOA) at the University of Murcia. One of his core interests is the advancement of
Elamite culture and language. In addition to directing the website of the IPOA, dedi-
cated to the dissemination of the textual documentation of Elam, he is the author of
numerous publications, including two volumes on Elamite language and civilization
published by the University of Murcia.
Shahrokh Razmjou received his BA and MA in Archaeology in Tehran and his PhD at
the University of London. He established the Tablets Hall (1998–1999) and the Centre
xxiii
 — Contributors —

for Achaemenid Studies (2001) at the National Museum of Iran and was curator of
Ancient Iran in the British Museum (2009–2012). He has directed excavations in the
Niasar caves in Kashan. His main areas of research are the architecture, art and archae-
ology of the Persian Empire, Persepolis, Elamite cuneiform texts, and Assyrian reliefs.
Razmjou also produced a new, updated translation of the Cyrus Cylinder into Persian.
He is currently teaching at the Department of Archaeology, University of Tehran.
Adriano V. Rossi has been Professor of Iranian philology at “L’Orientale” University
of Naples since 1980. He was formed as an Iranologist and Assyriologist at the Sapi-
enza University, Rome, and since 1998 has directed six research projects of relevant
national interest (PRIN) on Iranian philology and Achaemenid studies as principal
investigator. His main research subjects (with about 200 publications) are historical
and descriptive linguistics (Old Persian, Elamite, Parthian, Middle Persian, Sogdian,
Kurdish, Balochi, Farsi, Urdu, Indo-­European), ethnolinguistics (general and applied
to Indo-­Iranian languages), Balochi and Brahui lexicography, and the political his-
tory of the Indian Subcontinent. Since 2002 he has been project leader of DARIOSH
(Digital Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions Open Schema), an international project for
the digital edition of the Achaemenid royal inscriptions in Old Persian, Elamite, and
Babylonian. Since 2016 he has been president of ISMEO (International Association
of Studies on the Mediterranean and the Orient, Rome).
Denise Schmandt-­Besserat is Professor Emerita of Art and Middle Eastern Studies at
the University of Texas at Austin. Her last book, When Writing Met Art (2007), ana-
lyzes the impact of literacy on the visual arts. Her work on the nature of information
management and on the origin of counting and writing is based on extensive research
on archaeological collections in all major museums of the Middle East, Europe and
the USA. Her publications include Before Writing (1992) and How Writing Came
About (1996). The latter was listed in American Scientist as “one of the hundred
books that shaped science in the twentieth century.”
Piotr Steinkeller is Professor of Assyriology in the Department of Near Eastern Lan-
guages and Civilizations at Harvard University. Following his undergraduate work at
Warsaw University (Mediterranean archaeology and Assyriology), he studied at the
University of Chicago, where he received, in 1977, a PhD in Assyriology. Since 1981
he has taught at Harvard University. His research focuses on Mesopotamia during
the third millennium BC, in particular, socio-­economic history, historical geography
of Mesopotamia, Iran, and the Persian Gulf, Mesopotamian religion, and history of
early cuneiform writing. He has written five books and over 140 articles and book
reviews.
Jan Tavernier (born 1971) is Professor of Ancient Near Eastern Studies at the Uni-
versité catholique de Louvain (Louvain-­la-­Neuve, Belgium). In 2002 he defended
his PhD at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (Leuven, Belgium) on Iranian proper
names and loanwords in non-­Iranian texts from the Achaemenid period. His research
is concentrated on three axes: (1) Old Persian and Elamite languages and linguistic
history, (2) Ancient Near Eastern onomastics, especially Akkadian, Old Iranian and
Lycian, and (3) the interaction between language and administration in the Achae-
menid Empire. He has published a lexicon of Iranian names in non-­Iranian texts from
the Achaemenid period and various articles on these research topics.

xxiv
 — Contributors —

Massimo Vidale teaches Near Eastern Archaeology and Archaeology of Craft pro-
duction at the Department of Cultural Heritage of the University of Padua (Italy). He
is a member of ISMEO and has carried out archaeological and ethnoarchaeological
projects in various countries, including Iran, Iraq, Pakistan, Turkmenistan, and India.
His main research interests are the reconstruction of ancient technologies and their
impact in the development of early states and civilizations of southern Eurasia. He is
currently involved in field research in the Swat valley (Pakistan), focused on the late
Bronze age settlements and graveyards of the region, and in Iran, particularly in the
Halil Rud valley and in the Jazmurian basin (collaborations with the Universities of
Tehran and Jiroft and with the Museum of Zahedan, Sistan-­Baluchistan).
Yasmina Wicks completed her PhD “‘Alas, Short is the Joy of Life!’: Elamite Funerary
Practice in the First Half of the First Millennium BCE” (2017) at the University of
Sydney, Australia, where she remains a research affiliate. She has authored a mono-
graph Bronze ‘Bathtub’ Coffins in the Context of 8th–6th Century BC Babylonian,
Assyrian and Elamite Funerary Practices (2015) and several articles on the material
culture of first millennium Elam.
Ran Zadok was born in 1944, studied in Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, and Cambridge (UK),
participated in the TAVO (Tübinger Atlas) and the Iranisches Personennamenbuch
(Vienna) projects, and is now Professor Emeritus of Mesopotamian, Iranian, and
Judaic studies at Tel Aviv University, Institute of Archaeology. He has authored
numerous books and articles about the ethno-­linguistic character and historical geog-
raphy of the pre-­Hellenistic Fertile Crescent and Iran, and published Neo-­and Late-­
Babylonian economic texts.

xxv
 INTRODUCTION

Javier Álvarez-­Mon, Gian Pietro Basello,

and Yasmina Wicks

Suddenly, to the south, appeared the tell of Susa, an artificial hill with ravines rising
like a mass in the distance. The sky was dark, filled with heavy, black, clouds; but a
beam of light, just one, passing through the clouds, struck the ruins of the capital of
Elam, making them shine like a star against a background of lead. It was a happy
omen, and in spite of my complete detachment from superstition I  could not help
thinking of the future.
Mémoires de Jacques de Morgan 1857–1924 (1997)

T he word civilization takes us back, etymologically speaking, to a phase in the

development of human society that was characterized by the domestication of
plants and animals, and in many places a related phenomenon of settlement (Latin
cīvis from proto-Indo-European ḱey-­, “to lie down, settle, home, family”) and, ulti-
mately, the emergence of complex societies. Along the Nile river valley and on the
alluvial plains of Mesopotamia and southwest Iran, these new lifeways generated a
“big bang” in human interaction which in turn stimulated the development of social
structures, beliefs, and the cognitive space (and boundaries) that have been largely
inherited by modern societies. Among the civilizations to participate in this phenom-
enon of contact and interchange, Elam has remained one of the most obscure.
The vital and dynamic Elamite civilization inhabited a territory extending from
the lowlands of Khuzestan in southwest Iran into the highlands of Fars further to the
east, although as the various chapters in this volume reveal its cultural boundaries
and broader sphere of influence were subject to significant fluctuation over time. At
around 2600 BC Sumerian written sources first alert us to the existence of Elam,
which is referred to using the sign NIM, meaning “high, elevated”. Akkadian lan-
guage would later render NIM as Elamtu, possibly related to akkadian elûm “high,
upper” but most likely deriving from the Elamite word ha(l)tamti, perhaps meaning
“gracious lord-­land” or simply “high land”. The modern name “Elam”, like many
other places regarded as Biblical lands in the Western tradition, is an adaptation of
Biblical Hebrew (‘Êlām) from which the Greek (Ailam) is derived.

1
 — Introduction —

The origins of Elamite culture can be traced back much further in time than its first
historical attestations to the foundation of the large city of Susa out on the Susiana
plain in ca. 4200 BC and, as the reader will note, some authors have incorporated
discussion of “Elam” in its earlier manifestations. At the other end of the chronolog-
ical spectrum, it is equally difficult to pinpoint when Elam ceased to exist. For a long
time its demise was thought to have been an immediate consequence of the brutal
sack of Susa by the Neo-­Assyrian army of Ashurbanipal in ca. 647 BC, but in recent
decades the date has shifted down and today the rise of the Persian empire in the
mid-­6th century is usually taken as the most relevant marker. In any case, it has been
recognised that even centuries beyond this date, we can still bear witness to various
manifestations of Elam and the Elamites.1
Despite having been an integral player in the history of the ancient Near East for
thousands of years, the Elamite civilization has tended to languish in the background
of scholarly inquiry. The reasons for this are manifold. In particular, its study is highly
problematic from both a textual and archaeological viewpoint. From the perspective of
the philologist, the Elamite language, with no effective relatives, is inherently difficult
and has presented insurmountable challenges for even the most dedicated scholars who
have attempted to master it. The archaeologist, meanwhile, must contend with a large,
and in many respects still incomprehensible, body of Elamite material culture that
mostly originates from the large lowland tell of Susa. This site was excavated inten-
sively in the late 19th and early 20th centuries using methods of recovery and recording
that were poor even by the standards of the time. Furthermore, the efforts to publish
the material too often resulted in only preliminary reports offering selective and laconic
descriptions of the finds. Further complicating matters for the archaeologist, art histo-
rian, and even the philologist (where inscriptions are involved) is the integration into
Elam’s material record of forgeries with manufactured histories. This problem is not
new; having been noted by Joachim Menant as far back as 1888, it seems to have arisen
already during the late 19th-­century excavations of Susa led by Marcel Dieulafoy.
Apart from these more practical concerns, certain attitudes towards Elam have
undoubtedly contributed to its failure to attract wider scholarly and public inter-
est. Firstly, due to its geographical position, scholars of the Western tradition have
been inclined to conceive of Elam as residing on the periphery of important develop-
ments, particularly the invention of writing, that transpired on the alluvial plains of
southern Mesopotamia, “the cradle of civilization”. Secondly, the impact of culture
historical studies, particularly prior to World War II, which traced the diffusion of
the Aryan “race” out onto the Iranian plateau, cannot be underestimated. The now-­
deeply embedded notion of an “Aryan” Iranian national identity fostered by these
studies, and an accompanying discourse tracing the lineage of modern Iranians back
to an Aryan Persian empire,2 has left little room for consideration of Persia’s “native”
Elamite predecessors. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, is the heavy toll of the
1979 Iranian revolution on the field of Elamite studies, which is still recovering from
the consequent dramatic reduction of archaeological research and the teaching of
Elamite language, art, and archaeology in higher learning institutions.
In the preface to a recent second edition of his classic work on Elam, D.T. Potts
(2016) cautioned that “the study of Elam may not be long for this world if cogent,
readable syntheses are not available”. Precisely this problem incited the editors of
The Elamite World to attempt to assemble a large group of international scholars

2
 — Introduction —

to contribute their expertise to the production of a solid treatment of Elamite civi-

lization in the English language, covering topics such as its physical setting, histor-
ical development, languages and people, material culture, art, science, religion, and
society, as well as the legacy of Elam in the Persian empire and its presence in the
modern world. Since the exposure of the anglophone student to Elam has been some-
what limited by the publication of a significant portion of the primary and secondary
scholarship in French and, to a lesser degree, in German, a substantial effort has been
made to bring some of the best non-­English scholarship to a broader audience, in
some cases necessitating the translation of contributions into English.
Had this book been written before the 20th century, the reader would have encoun-
tered a very different kind of Elam. In Part I: Imagining Elam, Daniel T. Potts draws
on an extraordinary range of sources to explore the scope of earlier understandings
of Elam, reaching back to the Renaissance and perceived through the lenses of Bib-
lical, Classical, cuneiform, and late Antique literature. The Elam encountered in the
Bible is then examined in greater depth by Peter Dubovský. The recovery of Elam
from the archaeological record goes back to 1897 with the creation of the French
scientific delegation in Persia (Délégation scientifique française en Perse) and the com-
mencement of its first excavations at Susa. Nicole Chevalier takes us on a fascinating
journey into the French archaeological missions, introducing their directors, goals,
and methods, which have together left deep imprints on our comprehension of the
history of Elam. Because the French missions managed to secure preferential access to
Elamite sites, the Louvre museum in Paris acquired, over a number of years, the most
important collection of Elamite artefacts outside Iran. Documentation pertaining to
the acquisition and presentation of this collection are fundamental sources for the
reconstruction of the history of research on Elam and provide interesting reflections
on taste in 19th-­and early 20th-­century France. From these sources Marianne Cotty
reconstructs the history of the Louvre collection and the “Elam invented on the banks
of the Seine”, highlighting the manifold challenges involved in the museographic
presentation of Elam and the mutable criteria used to bring it to life in public exhibit.
Turning to a darker aspect of the collecting and exploitation of artefacts from the
past, Oscar W. Muscarella outlines some of the problems that have been introduced
into the study of Elamite material culture by the antiquities market and identifies a
handful of purported “Elamite” objects in collections around the world that should
be regarded as fakes.
Incorporating both lowland alluvial plains and a large expanse of the Zagros high-
lands, intermountain valleys, and piedmonts, Elam’s landscape differed substantially
from those in which the Egyptian and Mesopotamian civilizations arose. In Part II:
The Land and Peoples of Elam, the unique physical geography and environment that
shaped Elam’s distinctive dual highland-­lowland cultural personality and enabled
its remarkable resilience and longevity is presented by Cameron Petrie, Morteza
Djamali, and Matthew D. Jones. The natural resources supplied by this landscape,
including hard timber, quality stone, and above all, metal, gave Elam an economic
edge over its neighbours. The latter is treated in detail by Barbara Helwing, who
draws on the latest research to examine metal sources, the mechanics of raw material
supply, and Elam’s spectacular metallurgical industry. Textual evidence reveals that
the diverse regions of Elam were home to multi-­ethnic and multilingual populations.
A diachronic presentation of the onomastic evidence for the inhabitants of Elam by

3
 — Introduction —

Ran Zadok suggests the presence of not only Elamites, but Akkadians, later Arameo-­
Arabians, smaller groups like the Kassites, and in the 1st millennium numerous work-
ers from all over the empire in Achaemenid Elam. Jan Tavernier then homes in on the
Elamite and Iranian populations residing in southwest Iran in the 1st millennium and
the evidence for their increasing enmeshment. He highlights that in the earlier half
of the millennium (c. 1000–550 BC) Iranians were living as subjects in an Elamite-­
controlled kingdom, but by the Achaemenid period (c. 550–330 BC), after a long
period of acculturation, an Elamo-­Iranian culture had become dominant.
In Part III: Elam through History, Piotr Steinkeller embarks on the first steps of
our chronological odyssey with the birth of “Elam”, reconstructing the early histor-
ical phase of Elam based on the testimony of predominantly Mesopotamian written
sources of the last quarter of the 3rd millennium. He pays particular attention to the
genesis of Elam and native Iranian manifestations of statehood such as the kingdoms of
Awan and Shimashki, and the “empire” of Puzur-­Inshushinak. For the first half of the
2nd millennium the written sources provide complementary perspectives on the role of
Elam in trade, diplomacy, and military confrontations with Mesopotamia, and Luca
Peyronel draws on these to provide historical meaning to an otherwise scattered wealth
of archaeological evidence. Moving into the second half of the millennium, Behzad
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi reviews the textual and archaeological evidence for the Middle
Elamite period and articulates some important new insights gained during his recent
excavations at Haft Tappeh and Chogha Zanbil. Elynn Gorris and Yasmina Wicks
then continue the story of Elam into the 1st millennium, a time of increasing cultural
diversity and political vitality culminating in the rise of the Achaemenid Persian empire.
Proceeding from this chronological outline, the relations between the Elamites and
some of their most immediate neighbours are explored in Part IV: Close Encounters
on the Eastern and Western Fronts. Massimo Vidale begins on the eastern front in the
3rd millennium BC, examining the dynamic exchange networks established between
the various Elamite polities and the centers of power in the eastern part of the Ira-
nian Plateau within a context of continuously evolving levels of interaction. On the
western front, the long and fascinating history of contact between Elam and its neigh-
bours on the alluvial plains of southern Mesopotamia presents numerous possible
avenues of research. Here Ran Zadok concentrates on three centuries of particularly
intensive interaction during which Elam was under Igihalkid and then Shutrukid
rule, and Babylonia under Kassite rule (c. 1400–1100). Peter Dubovský then shifts
our attention to the north and the often-­antagonistic relations between Assyria and
Elam in the 1st millennium when the Assyrian kings began attempting to expand
their influence over territories in the western Zagros and southern Babylonia, inev-
itably clashing with Elamite interests. As a major political force of the mid-­7th cen-
tury, Elam was assigned a special place in Assyrian palace reliefs, especially in those
commissioned by Ashurbanipal (668–c. 627). A study of this king’s representation of
the Elamites by Shahrokh Razmjou unveils new insights into Assyrian propaganda,
symbolism, and attitudes.
Since long before the emergence of “Elam”, the plain of southwest Iran served as a
laboratory for the cultivation of writing. The fascinating history of this evolution pro-
vides the focus of Part V: Language and Writing in Elam. Denise Schmandt-­Besserat
begins by exploring the development of administrative technologies required for the
management of a redistribution economy: namely, tokens for counting and seals for

4
 — Introduction —

controlling the movement of goods. The origins of a proto-­Elamite writing system are
then traced by Jacob Dahl back to these administrative artefacts, which are regarded
as forerunners to writing, in the so-­called Uruk V period, and to the earliest proto-­
cuneiform texts of the Uruk IVa period (3500–3300 BC), showing at the same time the
independent development of proto-­Elamite. Despite the largely undeciphered state of
proto-­Elamite writing, the content of many of the texts is understood, offering a rich
source of information on aspects of social and economic life and intellectual advances
made at this time. Another undeciphered writing system used slightly later in Elam,
during the second half of the 3rd and early 2nd millennium BC, is linear Elamite.
The available information and main hypotheses regarding this enigmatic writing are
evaluated by François Desset. Elamite language is not attested epigraphically with
certainty until the 23rd century. In a comprehensive chapter, Jan Tavernier provides
a background to the history of research on this isolated language, enumerates the
extant texts, and then offers a general introduction to Elamite grammar. Subsequently,
the use of all three types of writing – proto-­Elamite, linear Elamite, and Elamite – in
Elam is reviewed by Jean-­Jacques Glassner, who places their invention in the context
of major cultural phenomena akin to the invention of writing in other areas of the
world (Sumer, Egypt, China, and Mesoamerica). Elamite kings utilized the medium of
writing to proclaim and preserve eternal memory of their piety and achievements, and
to manage affairs within their realm. In an examination of the unique literary genre of
commemorative royal inscriptions, Florence Malbran-­Labat sheds light on the nature
of royal power in Elam, while Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo analyze the
use of writing as an administrative device by the Elamite state.
Moving from texts to archaeology, Part VI: The Material Culture of Elam delves
into the material remains of the Elamite world, whose architects and artisans mas-
terfully manipulated clay, siliceous paste, stone, bitumen, ivory, and metal, exhibiting
the various facets of their lowland-­highland cultural identities. The characteristics
of Elamite architecture are studied by Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi from the particu-
lar perspective of 2nd millennium evidence, which has delivered a broad range of
functional types, including residences, public buildings, fortifications, funerary con-
structions, and sacral structures. Ceramics are, of course, the most abundant mate-
rials in the archaeological record, and in them we can perceive an extraordinary
artistic production. Bernadette McCall highlights that while the origins of Elamite
ceramics have yet to be clarified, their characteristic style and ware would eventually
make them a distinctive and consistent corpus of vessels. Another prolific industry,
whose raw sources and production techniques were examined in Part II, is that of the
metal arts. François Bridey considers the importance, in both number and quality, of
the discoveries delivered by the site of Susa, which remain the major references for
determining the technological milestones and typological and stylistic developments
achieved by metalworkers of southwest Iran. Turning then to the equally remark-
able vitreous materials industry, Noëmi Daucé examines a period of effervescence
and technological innovation commencing in the second half of the 2nd millennium.
From both a geographical and chronological point of view, glazed architectural dec-
oration, votive objects, and grave goods outline the contours of a coherent Elamite
civilization, whose recipes and savoir faire were passed down within workshops for
over a millennium. In a dual treatment of sculpture, Holly Pittman first introduces
the reader to the birth of Elamite monumental sculpture in light of the sculptural

5
 — Introduction —

conventions of the time, and then Javier Álvarez-­Mon offers a long-­term view of the
evolution of sculptural craft at a range of scales, from the miniature to the monumen-
tal. The study of the rich corpus of Elamite glyptic is shared between two authors.
Enrico Ascalone first examines 4th–2nd millennium seals with emphasis on dynamic
networks of influence, and Mark B. Garrison then queries the 1st millennium glyptic
corpora from Susa, which exhibits many linkages in style, themes, and compositional
formulae with glyptic from Persepolis. Dating to the reign of Darius I, the latter
reflects the complex emergence of an Achaemenid Persian identity, what has become
known as the “ethnogénèse des Perses”. Finally, the rich corpus of Elamite visual
evidence forms the basis of an original study of the characteristics and evolution of
Elamite clothing by Trudy Kawami.
The previous chapters reveal that the diversity and distinctiveness of Elamite
society is ubiquitous in its texts, its artistic production, and many other aspects of
its material culture. In Part VII: Elamite Society the authors draw on this evidence
to further bring to life the people of the Elamite world. Gian Pietro Basello and
Enrico Ascalone deal with literary production, timekeeping, and metrology. Progress-
ing more into the transcendental, Enrique Quintana examines the characteristics of
Elamite religion and ritual. Since the Susiana region provides most of the evidence for
this study, correspondences with Mesopotamian culture are understandably salient,
but nevertheless we still find specifically Elamite features, including divinities (and the
specific roles allocated to them), places of worship, and ritual practices. The related
topic of funerary practices and beliefs is examined by Hermann Gasche and Steven
W. Cole, who evaluate the archaeological evidence within the broader territorial and
cultural scope of “Greater Elam”, extending from the Iran-­Iraq border to Kerman
province. The topic of gender has attracted increasing interest in ancient Near East-
ern scholarship in recent years, and here Aurelie Daems tackles the subject of Elamite
women, providing insights into their representation, social status, and the activities
they performed. Despite the ethereal character of music, its millenary tradition in
Elam surfaces in the visual record studied by Bo Lawergren, who takes us back to
some of the earliest representations of musical ensembles and highlights the signifi-
cant role of music in Elamite society and its special place in ritual practice.
In recent years an increasing body of academic publications have suggested that
the legacy of Elam was more considerable and long-­lasting than previously estimated.
A recognition of this fact must now be regarded as essential for any scholar interested
in the genesis and development of Achaemenid Persia and later Iranian civilizations.
In Part VIII: The Legacy of Elam, Wouter F.M. Henkelman treats this topic from the
perspective of administration and religion, and Javier Álvarez-­Mon offers a synthesis
of the Elamite architectural and sculptural artistic heritage of Persia. To conclude
the volume, Adriano Rossi elaborates on the past, present, and future role of Elam
in the development of Iranian studies and in our understanding of the origins of the
Achaemenid state.
This volume represents the combined effort of numerous minds seeking for Elam,
hardly a household name, a noteworthy place in our shared cultural heritage. The
collecting together of their diverse and fascinating contributions into a unifying
frame in the Routledge Worlds series offers a fresh way to look at Elam as a cultural
phenomenon, and repositions it at the centre of the current panorama of ancient
Near Eastern studies. Returning to the optimistic omen of Jacques de Morgan, we

6
 — Introduction —

would like to carry forth his vision of the beam of light piercing the black clouds over
the ancient tell of Susa as an auspicious sign for the future of Elamite studies.

ACKNOWLED G E M E NTS
The editors would like to acknowledge the financial support of the Australian
Research Council (ARC) and of Macquarie University at various stages of this proj-
ect, without which the volume could not have come to fruition, and the additional
assistance of the University of Sydney and “L’Orientale” of Naples. We would also
like to thank Matthew Gibbons, Senior Editor at Routledge, for his invitation to edit
a book on Elam in the Routledge Worlds series and Lola Harre and Molly Marler
for their encouragement and advice along the way. To all the contributors who made
the project possible, we thank you for agreeing to partake in this adventure. Finally,
we would like to give special mention to Pierre Amiet and François Vallat, two of
the fathers of Elamite studies, whose numerous works are mentioned throughout
this volume; to Maurizio Tosi, who accepted our invitation to write a chapter but
sadly ended his terrestrial journey before completing it; and to Ernie Haerinck, who
worked tirelessly to foster the study of Elam and ancient Iran.

NOTE S
1 See especially Potts (2016), who continues his treatment of Elam well into the first

millenium AD.
2 For just one of many of the interesting discussions on this topic, see Matin-­asgari 2012.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Matin-­asgari, A. 2012. The Academic Debate on Iranian Identity. Nation and Empire Entan-
gled. In: Amanat, A. and Vejdani, F. (eds.) Iran Facing Others: Identity Boundaries in a
Historical Perspective. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 173–192.
Menant, J. 1888. Les Fausses antiquités de l’Assyrie et de la Chaldée. Paris: Ernest Leroux.
Morgan, J. de. 1997. Mémoires de Jacques de Morgan 1857–1924. Souvenirs d’un archéo-
logue, edited by Andrée Jaunay. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Potts, D.T. 2016. The Archaeology of Elam. Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Ira-
nian State, 2nd edition (1st edition 1999). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

7
 PART I

IMAGINING ELAM:
THE HISTORY OF RESEARCH
AND ITS SOURCES
 CHAPTER ONE

ÆLAM REGIO
Elam in Western scholarship from the
Renaissance to the late 19th century

Daniel T. Potts

INTRODU CTIO N
When Father Jean-­Vincent Scheil penned the resonant phrase, ‘Ici commence l’his-
toire de l’Élam’ in 1900 (Scheil 1900: vii), he was expressing a view which, while
understandable, was hardly correct. Western awareness of Elam predated the docu-
mentation, excavation and recovery of Elamite inscriptions and monuments in situ
by many centuries. This chapter surveys the growth of scholarship on Elam broadly
speaking in earlier Western scholarship, focusing on the Bible, Classical sources, the
trilingual Achaemenid inscriptions, Akkadian and Sumerian texts, the Books of Mac-
cabees, the Babylonian Talmud and eastern Christian (Nestorian) sources, treated,
more or less, according to the development of Western interest in them. The com-
mencement of Jacques de Morgan’s excavations at Susa in 1897–1898 provides a
convenient cut-­off point for this study.

THE B I B L E
Elam’s appearance in Genesis (10.22) as a son of Sem has been widely discussed
(e.g. Basnage 1713: 452; Gürtler 1715: 55; Assemani 1728: 419–420; Lenz 1739:
8; Schmidt 1740: 55; Calmet 1776: 39; Löwisohn 1821: 79–80; Hornung 1827: 33;
Kitto 1851: 9–10), although as Theodor Nöldeke noted, the classification in Genesis
was based on geographical and political relationships, not linguistic or ethnographic
criteria (Nöldeke 1899: 1). The publication of the Sixto-­Clementine Vulgate in the
late 16th century prompted the appearance of exhaustive concordances (e.g. Santo
Caro et  al. 1733) and detailed commentaries of those books in which Elam and
Shushan feature (e.g. Hardouin 1700: 126–127, Hengstenberg 1848 on Daniel; Pat-
rick 1706: 537, 574, 616, 640, 680, 683, 692, 709, 737–738, 742–745, on Esther and
Nehemiah; Nägelsbach 1850: 29–32, 78, 140 on Jeremiah) as well as studies devoted
to historical geography (e.g. Wells 1711; Schmidt 1740; Joly 1784; Löwisohn 1821;
Hornung 1827). As Elam was a descendant of Sem, Elamite (‘Elamitisch’; Herder
1794: 11) was considered a Semitic language (Kaiser 1840: 1).
Convenient summaries of the Biblical testimony concerning Elam and Shushan
were widely disseminated and readily accessible in churches, schools and private
11
 — D a n i e l T. P o t t s —

homes (e.g. Alexander and Alexander 1830: 18; Allioli 1844: 44–45; Weiland and
Ackerman 1845: 6–7; Phillott 1875). Mitchell’s Ancient Geography offered the reader
‘questions, to be answered from the Text and the Atlas’ (Mitchell 1845: v) including,
’1. What is said of Elam? Of Chedorlaomer? What was Elam? 2. What is said of the
Elamites by Ezra? By Isaiah? Jeremiah and Ezekiel? Where were Elamites present? 3.
What is said of Shushan? What was it once?’ (Mitchell 1845: 192–193).

Chodorlahomor/Chedorlaomer/Kedor Lahomer (Gen. 14.1–17)

The identity and significance of Chodorlahomor/Chedorlaomer/Kedorlaomer, king
of the Elamites  – Chodorlahómor rex Aelamitarum  – was frequently discussed
(e.g.  Ferus 1565: 272; Pereira 1596: 141–143; Ribera 1596: 248; Del-­Rio 1608:
227–228; Salian 1619: 398, 418; Basnage 1713: 452; Le Maistre de Saci 1723: 386–
389; Suhm 1769: 43; Calmet 1776: 40–41; Jahn 1817: 66; Hornung 1827: 35; Tuch
1847: 164ff; Delattre 1879: 78–79; Harper 1889: 250–251). According to Gene-
sis, Chodorlahomor had, together with Amraphel of Sennaar, Arioch of Pontus and
Thadal, ‘king of nations’, waged war against a rebellious group of kings, including
Bara of Sodom and Bersa of Gomorrah. Sanson’s dissertations (1717) are notewor-
thy for their exhaustive discussion of both Biblical and Classical testimony on Elam/
Elymais, although Chodorlahomor is not mentioned by Greek and Roman writers
(Calmet 1714: xlvii). For centuries he was the earliest Elamite king attested in a writ-
ten source (Galletti 1827: 2–3), and after the decipherment of cuneiform H.C. Raw-
linson proposed that Kudur-­Mabuk, whom he had identified in a text published in
1861 (H.C. Rawlinson 1861/I: 2, no. III; earlier mentioned in G. Rawlinson 1860: 73,
Note LXXIX, 281; cf. Smith 1868: 116), was none other than Chodorlahomor. Raw-
linson quickly modified this, however, suggesting ‘that Kudur-­mabuk, and Chedor-­
laomer, though of one family, were distinct persons’ (G. Rawlinson 1862: 205–206).
Whereas the entire historicity of Chodorlahomor was rejected by Nöldeke for lack
of evidence (Nöldeke 1869: 159), Oppert opened a new perspective when he sug-
gested that the Greek version of the Biblical name (Χοδολλάγομορ) replicated Elamite
Kudur-­Lagamar (Oppert 1871: 510–511; cf. Oppert 1887: 492), and this was widely
accepted (e.g. Lenormant 1877: 538, n. 4; Babelon 1881: 363; Halévy 1887: 321).
Eberhard Schrader, a prominent exponent of the use of cuneiform sources to confirm
Biblical testimony, suggested that ‘Kedorlaomer’ belonged to an Elamite royal family
whose names began with ‘Kudur’ (hence ‘Kudurids’), at least one of whose members
had extended its sway as far as Canaan (Schrader 1872: 15–16).

Shushan the palace and Susa

Long before any excavations at Susa, the verse on Elam and Shushan in Daniel (8.2) –
‘And I saw in a vision; and it came to pass, when I saw, that I was at Shushan the
palace, which is in the province of Elam; and I saw in a vision, and I was by the river
Ulai’  – was vigorously discussed. As early as 1173, Benjamin of Tudela correctly
identified Shush (i.e. Susa) with Biblical Shushan, largely because of the alleged tomb
of Daniel there and the testimony of Shush’s Jewish community. Printed versions of
Benjamin’s travel account circulated from 1543 onwards (in Hebrew [1543], English
[1625], Latin [1633], Dutch [1666], and French [1735]; Asher 1840: 1–25), yet

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Anglophone scholars (e.g. Farr 1850: 61; Booth 1902: 132) typically attributed the
identification of Shush with Shushan and Susa to Rennell (Rennell 1800: 203, n. †).
Later, confusion was introduced when it was suggested that Shushtar was the site
of Greek Susa and Biblical Shushan (e.g. Vincent 1797: 416; Griesinger 1815: 40;
Hammer-­Purgstall 1825: 335). Although some argued strenuously for the identifica-
tion of Shush with Greek Susa (e.g. Long 1833: 267), Rawlinson complicated matters
by positing that ‘in ancient times there were two cities of the name of Súsan, or Susa,
in the province of Susiana  – the more ancient, which is the Shushan of Scripture,
being situated at Súsan on the Kuran [i.e. Karun river, near Malamir], or Eulæus; the
other, the Susa of the Greeks, was at Sús [i.e. Shush], near the Kerkhah, or Choaspes’
(H.C. Rawlinson 1839: 85). This confusion became widespread when Rawlinson’s
position was adopted by Ritter (Ritter 1840: 309–311) and promulgated in several
major atlases of the period (e.g. Spruner von Merz 1850: Map XIII; see the critique
in Menke 1862: 546). Rawlinson, however, had never visited Súsan himself and when
Layard finally did, he noted ‘scarcely any remains which would indicate the site of
a large city. . . . no mounds of any size, or columns, or even hewn stones and bricks
(Layard 1842: 103–104). Rawlinson’s distinction between Susa and Shushan was
roundly criticized (Long apud Layard 1842: 104) and eventually disproven by Lof-
tus’ discoveries at Shush (Loftus 1857a: vii; 1857b: 120).

The Book of Tobit

When the King James version of the Bible appeared in 1611, it contained the Book
of Tobit in which we read (Tobit II 10), ‘Achiacharus [Ahiqar] did nourish me, until
I went into Elymais’ (e.g. Pitman 1822: 615; Lange 1880: 126, 148, 504, 507, 565).
According to some scholars, this implied a journey to Susa (Rennell 1800: 403),
providing yet another early attestation of the city. The relevant clause appears in the
Greek (cf. Meissner 1894: 193) but is absent in the Hebrew, Aramaic (Chaldee) and
Vulgate versions, while in the Vetus Itala (Old Latin) it is applied to a different person
(Fuller 1888: 193).

ELAM AND SUSIANA IN THE WO RKS O F THE

CLASSICAL AU THO RS
The publication of Latin translations of Strabo’s Geography and Herodotus’s Histories
in 1469 and 1474, respectively, made a vast amount of data on ancient southwestern
Iran accessible in Europe from an early date. The totality of Classical testimony on the
Persian empire, including Susa, Susiana and the adjacent highlands, had been synthe-
sized by the late 16th century (Brisson 1590). Thereafter, countless studies appeared in
which these sources were analyzed (e.g. de Laet 1633: 123ff.; Ferrari 1657; Cellarius
1703; Longuerue 1732: 9ff.; 1784: 26–27; Caylus 1764: 119; Hoeck 1818: 89–97). So
familiar were the Biblical and Classical allusions to Susa’s fine drinking water that the
poet Milton included a reference to it in Paradise Regained (Bk. III, verse 288; ‘Susa by
Choaspes, amber stream/ The drink of none but kings’), published in 1671 (cf. Todd
1809: 177–179). Sixty-­five years later the same inspiration prompted Elizabeth Singer
Rowe (1674–1737), to write, ‘Where fam’d Coaspes laves/ Rich Elam’s borders with
his sacred waves’ in The History of Joseph, Book 5, l. 1 (Rowe 1744).

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Amongst the great Enlightenment geographers who treated the sources on Ely-
mais, and whose works were widely read and translated, particular mention should
be made of Bourguignon d’Anville (e.g. d’Anville 1791: 484–486) and Konrad Man-
nert (Mannert 1797: 486). School atlases and geographical surveys with detailed
information on Susiana, Elymais, Kissia and related regions in the area of ancient
Elam abounded (Arrowsmith 1832: 230; Laurent 1840: 280–281; Ritter 1840). Some
of these provided detailed concordances of toponyms and hydronyms (e.g. Anony-
mous 1837; Ideler 1841; Müller 1849), while others were more synthetic (e.g. Menke
1862; Nöldeke 1874; von Gutschmid 1888). Nor should we forget that European
cartographers began publishing maps and historical atlases showing territories of the
Persian Empire with the toponyms attested in Classical sources from an early date
(e.g. ­Moullart – Sanson 1721; Santini 1779; Spruner von Merz 1850; Kiepert 1854).

TH E ACHAEMENID TRILING UAL INS CRIP TIO NS

The identification of one of the languages  – the second  – in the Achaemenid tri-
lingual inscriptions as Elamite was preceded by a long period of speculation and
analysis. Although several 17th and early 18th century visitors to Persepolis (e.g.
Samuel Flower, Jean Chardin, Cornelis de Bruijn) made and published hand copies
of individual cuneiform signs and inscriptions, none of these was accurate enough to
form a basis for serious study. Consequently, some scholars thought the cuneiform
inscriptions engraved on the buildings at Persepolis were not true writing but magic
signs (Cuper 1743: 222, 229; Zoëga 1797: 552, n. 5), or a playful form of decoration
(Hyde 1700: 1729; Witte 1799: 83; cf. Sylvestre de Sacy 1793: 3). Such scepticism
vanished after Carsten Niebuhr, who worked at Persepolis in March, 1765, pub-
lished the first accurate copies of a long series of Persepolis texts, noting that the
Persepolitan texts were written in three distinct ‘alphabets’ (‘drey ganz verschiedenen
Alphabeten’; Niebuhr 1778: 158). Although Niebuhr’s threefold classification was
rejected by some (e.g. Wahl 1784: 619), it soon gained acceptance by serious students
of cuneiform (e.g. Tychsen 1798: 47; Münter 1802: 83). The three variants were
referred to by Münter as A, B and C (Münter 1802: 84) and by Grotefend as first,
second and third (‘erste, zweyte und dritte Schriftart’, as reported by Tychsen 1802:
1482; cf. Sylvestre de Sacy 1803: 457; Grotefend 1805: 944). Grotefend was the first
to observe that, when trilingual inscriptions flanked a window, the first and least
complex variant was always at the top; the second variant, of intermediate complex-
ity (Niebuhr’s texts C, E, K, D, F and L; Ménant 1885: 77 discussed F as an example
of the type), was at the left; and the third, most complex variant was at the bottom
or right (Grotefend 1805: 936; cf. Bellino 1820: 172; Ouseley 1821: 257; Rich 1839:
252; Ménant 1885: 82).
Scholars then turned to the identity of the languages represented by these three
writing systems. Münter suggested that they were Zend (Avestan), Pahlavi and Parsi
(Persian), written alphabetically, syllabically and ideographically (Münter 1802: 74,
84), while Lichtenstein identified them as Median or Zend, Pahlavi and Babylonian,
(Lichtenstein 1803: 72, 89, 103) and Grotefend suggested they were Zend, Pahlavi
and an unidentified Persian dialect (‘Persischen Mundart’; Grotefend 1805: 936).
Later he called them all ‘altpersisch’, though not necessarily Zend, Pahlavi and Parsi
(Grotefend 1837: 24).

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In 1823 Antoine-­Jean Saint-­Martin identified the language of the second type of

Persepolitan inscriptions as Median (‘médique’) (Saint-­Martin 1823: first unnum-
bered figure; 1836: 119; cf. Beer 1838: 5; Salisbury 1849: 520; de Saulcy 1849;
Luzzatto 1850: 9; rejected by Lassen 1842: 358–359). Westergaard (1845: 340)
concurred in identifying the second variant as ‘Median’ (‘Medisch’) on geographical
grounds and endorsed the term as a means of distinguishing it from the first vari-
ant, which he considered Old Persian (‘Altpersisch’), while the third he called Susian
(‘Susisch’), stressing, however, that the first and second might be simply local vari-
ants of Assyrian and Babylonian. Although Hincks preferred to use I and II for ‘the
first and second kind of Persepolitan writing’ since ‘the terms Persian or Median . . .
assume facts that are very questionable’ (Hincks 1846a: 115), he expressed no doubt
that these attributions were correct and sometimes wrote of ‘the second or Median
kind of writing’ (Hincks 1846b: 240).
A new hypothesis was announced in 1848 by Rawlinson who suggested that the
‘so-­called Median alphabet’ differed from Babylonian in orthography and structure,
resembling ‘more nearly to a Scythic . . . character’ (H.C. Rawlinson 1848: 34; cf.
1851: xlviii, xlix, l, lii, lxxxviii). Speculating that any ‘departure from that type’ had
resulted from ‘intercourse with Arian or Semitic nations’, he suggested that ‘we must
reject the possible attribution to the Medes of the centre columns of the trilingual
tablets’ and ‘admit the possible Scythicism of the original speech of the Medic race’
(H.C. Rawlinson 1848: 37). This hypothesis attracted some significant adherents (e.g.
Norris 1853; Westergaard 1854).
De Saulcy’s 1849 treatise on cuneiform inscriptions ‘du système Médique’ (de
Saulcy 1849) prompted a letter, dated 5 November  1849, from the Austrian poly-
math Isidore Löwenstern, in which the writer rejected the Median identification of
the second system of cuneiform at Persepolis (Löwenstern 1850a). This was followed
by an exposition of his alternative hypothesis, namely, that the language of these
inscriptions was Elamite. As Löwenstern wrote of his title (‘Remarques sur la deux-
ième écriture cunéiforme de Persépolis’), ‘if it were the fashion nowadays to employ
the less reserved style of scholars of the last century, I would have changed my title
to: Memoir demonstrating that the second script of Persepolis, called Median, is that
of the primitive inhabitants of Persia, the Elamites’ (Löwenstern 1850b: 687). While
admitting that the Elamites were a people shrouded in obscurity, Löwenstern none-
theless thought it unlikely their language was Scythic (Löwenstern 1850b: 689) and,
because of the Biblical association of Elam and Sem, maintained that Elamite was a
Semitic language (Löwenstern 1853: 85).
As early as 1839 Rawlinson had referred to cuneiform inscriptions at Shikaft-­e Sal-
man (H.C. Rawlinson 1839: 84; cf. 1848: 28). In 1850 he coined the name ‘Elymaean’
for these texts. Written ‘in a variety of the Assyrian character’, they appeared ‘in Ely-
mais proper, and . . . in all probability . . . record the actions of provincial governors, or
of kings tributary to Susa. . . . The character of these inscriptions is sensibly modified
from the Assyrian and Babylonian type, and varies equally much from the character
employed at the neighbouring city of Susa, yet it is not very difficult to be deciphered,
and if the language were only approximately known, the general contents of the legends
might be discovered. I can make nothing, however, of the language. It appears to me to
be Scythic, rather than Semitic or Indo-­European, but the materials are too scanty to
afford grounds for any trustworthy analysis’ (H.C. Rawlinson 1850: 482–483).

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In 1851 Layard published copies of two Kul-­e Farah inscriptions (Layard 1851:
36–37), and Holtzmann noted that, if Rawlinson (Rawlinson 1839: 84; 1848: 27–28;
1850: 407) and Hincks were correct about the similarities between these texts and
those of the second type at Persepolis and Bisotun, then the distribution of the type
was far greater than previously assumed (Holtzmann 1851: 148). Notwithstanding
speculation over the Scythic or Elamite character of the texts, Holtzmann continued
to call them Median, noting, however, that the term was merely a convenience that
had been standard since Westergaard’s study of 1845 (he omitted any reference to
Saint-­Martin), while stressing that the inscriptions were neither limited to Media
geographically nor confirmed linguistically as Median (cf. Longpérier 1845: 448).
Two years later Norris observed that ‘the only peculiar name found attached to any
place or province of Persia is the one attributed to Susiana; every other name is rendered
by a Persian word’ (Norris 1853: 4). A similar line of thinking led Mordtmann to identify
the Median or Scythic inscriptions as Susian (‘susisch) because he felt that the recurring
order at the head of Achaemenid satrapal lists – Persia, Susiana, ­Babylonia – mirrored
the three languages of the inscriptions (Mordtmann 1862: 22; 1870). Perceived analo-
gies with Turkish suggested that Susian belonged to the Turkic-­Tatar language family,
and was one of the oldest Turkic languages (Mordtmann 1862: 32–33).
In 1863 Jules Oppert used ‘Susian or Elamite’ (‘susiens ou élamites’) to describe
names (actually Kassite) in a kinglist which he had identified in the British Museum
in 1862 (Oppert 1863: 275). Two decades later Oppert described the identification
and publication of this text as the ‘discovery’ of the language of the Elamites (Oppert
1884, 1885: 45–46) and vehemently defended the priority of his discovery in a sharp
critique of Delitzsch (see below). Importantly, Oppert distinguished Susian – the lan-
guage of an early royal dynasty attested in pre-­Achaemenid inscriptions at Susa and
in the British Museum text – from Median, the language of the Medes (from Deioces
onward), the ‘Suso-­Medes’ and the second language of the Achaemenid inscriptions
(Oppert 1863: 45–46; cf. 1876b, 1877/8). At the International Congress of Oriental-
ists held in Paris in 1873, Oppert presented a paper on inscriptions in the Susian lan-
guage, and amongst other things, suggested that the names of the rulers of the XXIIth
Dynasty (misprinted as XIIth but correct in Oppert 1885: 46) in Egypt named by
Manetho, beginning with Sesonch (Shoshenq I; d. 924 BC), were all Susian (Oppert
1876a: 183). The term Susian was adopted by Lenormant, who published a tentative
Elamite kinglist and family tree based on the Neo-­Assyrian sources, beginning with
Huban-­nikaš I (‘Xumba-­nigas I’) in the reign of Sargon II, as well as line-­drawings of
brick and stele inscriptions from Susa (nos. 31–55), without transliteration or trans-
lation, based on copies by Loftus and squeezes provided by Constantine Macrides,
and several fragmentary inscriptions from Liyan (‘environs de Bender-­Bouschir’)
using squeezes provided by Lysimaque K. Tavernier, one time French Consul in Bagh-
dad (Lenormant 1874a: 109–141). Lenormant also suggested that Susian belonged
to the Turanian language family (Lenormant 1874b: 321–322; Lenormant 1875; in
18th and 19th century scholarship Turan referred broadly to Siberia; see e.g. Mentelle
1773: 558; Turanian was gradually superseded by ‘Altaic’; Ujfalvÿ de Mezö – Kövsed
1874: 58). He was enthusiastically followed by Sayce (1874, 1884), whose first study,
published in the same year as Lenormant’s, was intended ‘to lay the foundation of
future investigations into a subject so fruitful and interesting to the Turanian and gen-
eral philologist’ (Sayce 1874: 466). Sayce maintained that ‘the second Akhæmenian

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language. . . . must have been the vernacular of the lower classes who inhabited the
country in which the monuments of the Persian kings were erected – in other words,
of the Medes’ (Sayce 1874: 466). He believed that it was necessary to distinguish
‘Turanian natives’ from ‘Aryan emigrants’ in Media and concluded that ‘while fully
allowing with the French school that the language of the second Akhæmenian texts
belonged to the aborigines of Media, I prefer to call it Elamite, as less likely to lead to
ambiguity and misconception’ (Sayce 1874: 467).
The Turanian hypothesis was, however, quickly rejected by Oppert (Oppert 1876b:
4) and Delattre (Delattre 1883a: 18). Moreover, the chronological difference between
the earlier inscriptions of Susa and the later ones at Persepolis prompted him to dis-
tinguish Susian – the language of the pre-­Achaemenid Elamite princes who reigned at
Susa – from Susiac (‘susiaque’) – the second language of the Achaemenid texts (Delat-
tre 1883a: 18). A decade later Pinches used ‘Elamite’ without hesitation or explana-
tion (Pinches 1884: 303), whereas Hommel, like Delattre, distinguished two closely
related languages: Elamite or Susian, the language of the earlier, pre-­Achaemenid,
Susa inscriptions, and Median or, as he preferred Anzanite (‘Anzanisch’), the language
of the second variety of the Achaemenid texts (Hommel 1884: 161).
As noted above, Oppert claimed credit for the ‘discovery’, in 1862, of the language
of the Elamites, by which he meant that of the pre-­Achaemenid inscriptions at Susa.
The appearance of Delitzsch’s Die Sprache der Kossäer (Delitzsch 1884) prompted
Oppert to announce this claim retrospectively at the same time as he tried to show
that Delitzsch was wrong in attributing Elamite to the Kossaeans (Oppert 1884,
1885). The publication of the Cyrus Cylinder in 1880, however, prompted Amiaud to
use the term ‘Anzanite’ (following Hommel 1884) for the ‘dialecte élamite, le susien’,
spoken by the Turanian population of Persia (not the Medes) and used by the Ach-
aemenids in the second variety of their inscriptions to address them (Amiaud 1887:
254; cf. Halévy 1889).
Although a grammar of ‘Medic’ was published in 1888 (Bertin 1888), Weissbach
argued forcefully two years later that the language of the second type was neither Tur-
anian/Scythic nor Median. Emphasizing the differences between the Susa, Malamir
(Shikaft-­e Salman, Kul-­e Farah) and Achaemenid texts, he suggested the terms Old
Susian (‘Altsusisch) for the earliest texts from Susa, which he considered contempo-
rary with Old Assyrian and Old Babylonian material; Middle Susian (Mittelsusisch’)
for the Malamir texts, which he considered Neo-­Assyrian/Babylonian in date; and
New Susian (‘neususisch’) for the Achaemenid texts of the second variety (Weissbach
1890: 24 and chart p. 26).

AKKADIAN AND SU M E RIAN TE X TS

The decipherment of cuneiform, coupled with the discovery and publication of Assyr-
ian texts from the mid-­19th century onwards, opened a window on Elam’s history
that revolutionized scholarship. If we leave aside de Saulcy’s speculative and mis-
taken reading of the toponym Elam in the titulature used by Sargon II in his Display
Inscription at Khorsabad (de Saulcy 1850: 767), it was Hormuzd Rassam’s discov-
ery of Assurbanipal’s library in the North Palace at Nineveh, at the end of 1853,
that had the greatest bearing on the recovery of pre-­Achaemenid Elamite history.
Suddenly, Assurbanipal’s campaigns against Elam sprang to life in works written

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for both scholars and the general public (e.g. Smith 1871; von Gutschmid 1876;
Delitzsch 1884; Amiaud 1884: 252; Haupt 1886). Rawlinson’s publication of the
Taylor Cylinder from Nineveh (Rawlinson 1861/1866: Pls. 37–42), translations of
which appeared in English (Talbot 1862, 1874), French (Ménant 1874) and German
(Hoerning 1878), provided important information on Sennacherib’s Elamite cam-
paigns (cf. Gaffarel 1879: 178, 181; Walker 1888). Beginning in 1889, Bezold’s Cata-
logue provided a much needed vademecum to the Ninevite corpus. Delitzsch’s Wo lag
das Paradies? (Delitzsch 1881: 320–329) included a comprehensive study of Elam’s
geography based on the Assyrian and Babylonian sources, while Billerbeck’s synoptic
history of Susa (Billerbeck 1893) fully exploited the published Assyrian sources.

The Cyrus and Nabonidus texts

As noted above in reference to the Kul-­e Farah inscriptions, Anshan (Anzan) was dis-
cussed at some length in 1874 by A.H. Sayce (Sayce 1874: 475). In 1879 Hormuzd Ras-
sam discovered the so-­called Cyrus Cylinder at Babylon, and Rawlinson’s publication
of the text in 1880 (H.C. Rawlinson 1880) prompted vigorous debate, much of which
concerned Anshan, its location and its relationship to Elam (e.g. Babelon 1881; Delat-
tre 1883b; de Harlez 1882, 1883; Sayce 1882, 1884, 1886; Halévy 1883; Evers 1884;
Amiaud 1887: 241; Hagen 1891; Howorth 1892). In his initial remarks, Rawlinson
suggested that Anshan, of which Cyrus was identified as king, ‘must be a part of Elam, or
immediately adjoining that province’, and he located it ‘somewhere in the plain of Ram-­
Hormuz’ (H.C. Rawlinson 1880: 77). This debate received additional stimulus from the
almost simultaneous publication of the Nabonidus Chronicle (Pinches 1880: 170–171),
and it became clear that Anshan and Elam must henceforth be considered in tandem.

The inscriptions of Gudea

Ernest de Sarzec’s excavations at Telloh in southern Iraq (1877–1881) recovered the
well-­known inscribed cylinders of Gudea (de Sarzec 1884). These gave the first glimpses
of interaction between the city-­state of Lagash and Elam in the late 3rd millennium BC
(Amiaud 1884). Most importantly, these texts associated Anshan, ‘a land of the greatest
importance in the history of Western Asiatic civilization, a region which was no doubt
the cradle of the Elamite civilization’, with Elam (Anonymous 1886/7: 14).

THE B OOKS OF M ACCAB E E S

The accounts in I Maccabees 6: 1–17 and II Maccabees 1: 13–17 and 9: 1–4 of Antio-
chus’s IV’s attempted raid on a temple of Nanaya in Elymais were widely discussed
by early scholars (e.g. Marracci 1705: 9; Mongez 1799: 238; Buckingham 1830:
491–492; Löwenstern 1850b: 692; Phillott 1875: 24).

THE BAB YLONIAN TAL M U D

The Babylonian Talmud contains several references to Elam (Kiddushin 49b = Epstein
1935–1952: 4967; Kiddushin 71b = Epstein 1935–1952: 5041; Pesachim 87a = Epstein
1935–1952: 1736). These references were discussed by Talmudic scholars concerned,

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amongst other things, with the historical geography of Elam and Susiana (e.g. Neu-
bauer 1868: 325; Hamburger 1883: 61, 168, 734; Berliner 1884: 17).

NESTORIAN S O U RCE S
Clearly echoing the terminology used in the Bible, an eparchy of Elam was created
in Khuzestan by ‘Abdīšō of Saubā (fl. c. 300) (Braun 1900: 10, n. 4). Sources for the
study of Christianity in Elam began to become accessible in the early 18th century
(Assemani 1728: 419–420; Pfeiffer 1777: 372, 407, 426, 479, 480, 535, 537, 559,
561, 564, 569, 579), and their study expanded throughout the 19th century (e.g.
Zingerle 1836: 53; Hoffmann 1880: 19, 39, 41, 131, 180).

THE CHINESE CONTROVE RS Y

This review would not be complete if mention were not made of Terrien de
Lacouperie’s thesis, put forward for the first time in 1880, ‘that the Chinese writing
was derived about 2500 BC from that in use at Babylon, through the intermediate
country of Elam’ (de Lacouperie 1888a: 313). Lacouperie suggested that, ‘Nakhunte
was the traditional name of the kings of Elam, and there are in the early Chinese
institutions not a few similarities with those of that country’ (Lacouperie 1888b: 13;
cf. 1889). This found little favor amongst Sinologists (e.g. Schlegel 1891).

CONCLU S IO N
Despite the fact that the topics addressed earlier have been presented in a quasi-­
chronological order, it is clear that, in many cases, scholars all over Europe worked
simultaneously on many of these subjects. Elam’s roots were thus well established in
Europe’s academies by the time Loftus, let alone de Morgan, opened their trenches at
Susa. This is not to deny the revolutionary effect their discoveries had on the history
of Elamite scholarship but simply to situate them within the broader intellectual his-
tory of Western scholarship on the ancient world.

AB B REVIATIO NS
BOR The Babylonian and Oriental Record
CRAIBL Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles  –
Lettres
JRAS Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland
JRGS Journal of the Royal Geographical Society
RA Revue Archéologique
TRIA The Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy
ZDMG Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft

REF EREN CE S
Anonymous. 1837. Ueber Persiens alte Geographie. Aus dem zweyten, ungedruckten Bande
von Reichard’s Thesaurus. Anzeige  – Blatt für Wissenschaft und Kunst (Jahrbücher der
Litteratur) 77: 1–44.

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 — D a n i e l T. P o t t s —

———. 1886/7. Review of de Sarzec 1884. BOR 1: 14–15.

Alexander, J.W. and Joseph Addison. 1830. A geography of the Bible: Compiled for the Amer-
ican Sunday School Union. Philadelphia: American Sunday School Union.
Allioli, J.F. 1844. Handbuch der biblischen Alterthumskunde, vol. 2. Landshut: Vogel’sche
Verlagsbuchhandlung.
Amiaud, A. 1884. L’inscription A de Gudea. Zeitschrift für Keilschriftforschung 1: 233–256.
———. 1887. Cyrus, roi de Perse. In: F. Vieweg (ed.) Mélanges Renier. Paris, 241–260.
Arrowsmith, A. 1832. A Grammar of Ancient Geography, Compiled for the Use of King’s Col-
lege School. London: Arrowsmith and Fellowes.
Asher, A. 1840. The Itinerary of Benjamin of Tudela, vol. 1. London and Berlin: Asher & Co.
Assemani, J.S. 1728. Bibliotheca Orientalis Clementino-­Vaticana, vol. 3/2. Rome: Typis Sacræ
Congregationis de Propaganda Fide.
Babelon, E. 1881. Les inscriptions cunéiformes relatives à la prise de Babylone par Cyrus.
Annales de Philosophie Chrétienne NS 3: 340–372.
Basnage, J. 1713. Antiquités judaïques, ou Remarques critiques sur la République des Hébreux,
vol. 2. Amsterdam: Chez les Frères Chatelain.
Beer, E.F.F. 1838. Ueber die neuesten Forschungen zur Entzifferung der Keilschrift. Allgemeine
Literatur – Zeitung (January): 1–47.
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Wahl, S.F.G. 1784. Allgemeine Geschichte der morgenländischen Sprachen und Litteratur.
Leipzig: Johann Gottlob Immanuel Breitkopf.
Walker, D.A. 1888. The Assyrian King, Ašurbanipal. The Old Testament Student 8/2: 57–62.
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teln, 2nd ed. Weimar: Verlag des Landes – Industrie – Comptoirs.
Weissbach, F.H. 1890. Die Achämenideninschriften zweiter Art. Leipzig: J.C.Hinrichs’sche
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 CHAPTER TWO

ELAM AND THE BIBLE

Peter Dubovský

INTRODU CTIO N
Elam was one of the major powers of the ancient Near East whose political and
military interference would reach far beyond into the West and be surpassed only by
its fame. The Bible refers to Elam in various forms 59 times. These references can be
divided into two categories: (I) Elam referred to as an eponym and a personal name;
and (II) Elam referred to as a toponym and an ethnic category. Within this second
category, two further divisions can be observed: (a) Elam, an invader; and (b) Elam,
a living space for exiles.
The Hebrew term for Elam is ‘ylm (‘êlām), derived from Akkadian elamû, fem.
elam(m)ītu (AHw I, 196). The most common Greek transliteration of the Hebrew
term is Αιλαμ used as an eponym (Gen 10:22), a toponym (Gen 14:1), as well as a
personal name (Ezr 2:7). Besides Αιλαμ (Gen 10:22; 1 Chr 8:24), a personal name
Elam is also rendered Ωλαμ (1 Chr 26:3) and Ηλαμ (Ezr 2:31). Despite the fact
that the Hebrew does not have a gentilic form of Elam, Greek translators used a
gentilic form Αἰλαμῖται (Isa 11:11) and its variant Ἐλυμαΐς (Tob 2:10; 1 Macc 6:1;
Dan 8:2).
The Hebrew consonants ‘ylm were in two cases changed to ‘wlm (Jer 49:36; Ezr
10:2). Despite maintaining the consonant waw (ketib), the Massoretes considered it a
mistake and suggested reading ‘ylm (qere), that is, Elam. The exchange of consonants
yod and waw, however, shows that the word Elam was associated with a Hebrew
word ‘ôlām, “long time, eternity, a long time back” and in the adverbial position
“forever”. This association indirectly shows that a Hebrew native speaker associated
Elam with an ‘eternal’ kingdom.
A different association creates the most common Greek transliteration of the word
Elam – Αιλαμ. The same Greek word is also used to describe the porch leading to the
temple ’ûlām (1 Kgs 6:3), spelled also ’wlm, ’lm, ’ylm. The Greek Αιλαμ thus associ-
ates Elam with an area through which one should pass to a holy space.

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EPONYM AND P ER S O NAL NAM E S

The term Elam appears for the first time in the Bible in the table of nations as an
eponym and then in later books (Chronicles, Ezra, and Nehemiah) as a personal
name (HwAT 955; DCH VI, 355).

Eponym
Elam was inserted into the table of nations (tabula gentium) as a member of Sem’s
branch (Gen 10:22; 1 Chr 1:17). The biblical division of historical periods and rela-
tionships between nations differ from modern divisions based on pottery, architec-
ture, language, culture, and so on. The basic concept forming the mental pattern
for any division was patriarchal family. As a pater (’ab) was a head of a family, so
pater familias was a head, that is, founder and ancestor of a nation and ethnic group
(Cross 1998; Malamat 2001). Independently of ethnic identity, the names used in the
genealogies have different forms: (1) personal names (for example, the descendants of
Sem); (2) toponyms (Egypt – in Hebrew it is in the plural); (3) gentilic names ending
in y (most names of Japhet’s and Ham’s branch). In this sense, the proper name Elam
stands for the pater familias of the Elamites and has the form of a personal name.
The concept of pater familias extended to guilds, technologies, culture, and music.
Thus agriculture, weapons, musical instruments, or even wine production were
traced back to their pater (Gen 4:2.17.20.22; 9:20–23, etc.). Using this conceptual
framework, Gen 10 offers elaborated relationships among the nations of the ancient
Near East, tracing them back to their ancestors (Blenkinsopp 1992: 54–55). These
relationships form linear and segmentary genealogies which have no parallels in the
ancient Near East and appear only in Arabic historiography, probably inspired by
the biblical patterns. Following a linear genealogy, every nation traces its vertical
succession line to Noah and his three sons. Following a segmentary lineage, Gen 10
allows us to determine the horizontal relationships among apparently different ethnic
groups. The description starts with sons of Japhet (Gen 10:2–5). The nations belong-
ing to this group were the most distant relatives of Israel. The sons of Ham (Gen
10:6–20) were the most important neighbors of Israel, such as Egypt and the Canaan.
The most important branch was that of the sons of Sem. According to a later Jewish
tradition (Ant. 1:143), the first son, Elam, was the ancestor of the Elamites, who were
the ancestors of the Persians. The second son, Ashur, was the founder of Nineveh and
Assyria. The third son, Arpachshad, was the ancestor of the Chaldeans (Babylonia),
the fourth son, Lud, was the ancestor of the Lydians, and the fifth son, Aram, was the
ancestor of the Syrians. Abraham and, ultimately, the Israelites also belonged to Sem’s
branch. Abraham’s father, Terah, was the tenth descendant of Sem: Sem-­Arpachshad-­
Shelah-­Eber-­Peleg-­Reu-­Serug-­Nahor-­Terah-­Abraham (Gen 11:10–28).
In light of these biblical genealogies Elam is the first son of Sem, whereas Abraham
came from Sem’s third son, Arpachshad. Although he is Sem’s firstborn son, Elam’s
lineage is not developed. It is significant that the first three sons of Sem are the three
nations that participated in the fall of Israel and Judah, and represent the countries
in which the Israelite exiles lived. Elamites participated in the fall of Judah, Assyrians
brought down Samaria, and Babylonians conquered Jerusalem. Finally, Aram, the
fifth son of Sem, was also a source of severe affliction for Israel (1 Kgs 20; 2 Kgs 6).

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Thus, the table of nations inserts Elam into a vertical relationship with its prede-
cessors and also defines horizontal relationships with other nations occupying the
ancient Near East. The insertion of Elam into Sem’s branch shows that, on the one
hand and despite geographical distance, Elam was a close “relative” of Israel. On
the other hand, Israel’s closest relatives (Elam, Assyria, Babylonia, and Aram) were
involved in constant military conflict.

Personal names
Several texts composed after the exile, such as Chronicles, Nehemiah, and Ezra, men-
tion Elam as a personal name given to different individuals (HwAT, 955; DCH VI,
355). Six persons bearing this name appear in the Bible: (1) a Benjaminite (1 Chr
8:24); (2) a Levite musician (Neh 12:42); (3) a Korahite gatekeeper (1 Chr 26:3); (4)
a lay chief of people, a signatory of the covenant at time of Nehemiah (Neh 10:15;
12:42); (5) a returnee from Babylonian exile (Ezr 2,7/Neh 7:12; Ezr 8:7; 10:2); and
(6) an ancestor of another family returning from exile (Ezr 2:31/Neh 7:34). To this
list we can also add the references in 1 Esd 5;12; 8:33; 9:27. While it is impossible
to give more details about these individuals, their occurrence seems to indicate that
during the Persian and later periods when Elam was fully incorporated into the Per-
sian provincial system, the name Elam became a popular personal name. Thus, for
example, in Chronicles and 1 Esdras, the term Elam is no longer used as a toponym
but only as an eponym or a personal name.

ELAM – TOPONYM AND E THNIC CATE G O RY

The texts belonging to this category reflect political events and the cultural and reli-
gious thought of the period(s) in which they were composed and redacted. Since the
Bible presents world history from the Judean viewpoint, it is only natural that this
group of references to Elam were also marked by the same interpretative patterns.
The most important event in the history of Judah was represented by the fall of Jeru-
salem, even though similar events were not uncommon in the history of the ancient
Near East, and therefore this group of texts can be divided into two clusters: the texts
reflecting the pre-­exilic period (Genesis, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel) and the post-­exilic/
later texts. Whereas the first cluster emphasized more the bellicose nature of Elam,
the post-­exilic texts depict Elam as the place where Israelite and Judean exiles lived
and even prospered.

Pre-­Exilic Period: Elam-­destroyer will be destroyed

The books of Genesis, Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel all describe the bellicose nature
of Elam. From ancient times (Abraham’s story) until the end of the first temple, Elam
appears as an invader and the Elamites as skillful warriors and politicians. The most
important feature of Elam was its superior military power, whose synecdoche was a
bow (Jer 49:35). The bow indeed was a well-­chosen symbol of Elam, since the archers
were the strongest point of the Elamite army in the Neo-­Elamite period (Brinkman
1986: 203). Elam both led or participated in various military campaigns, defeating
a powerful coalition of Canaanite kings and even helping to bring down the two

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most powerful kingdoms of the world – Egypt and Babylon. The prophecies against
Judah (Isa 22:6; Jer 25:25) also mention Elamite participation in the conquest and
destruction of Judah. The message of the biblical writers reflects a twofold logic. If
the Canaanite coalition, Egypt and Babylon, were defeated with the help of Elamite
troops, would Judah be able to resist an invasion in which Elam was involved?
However, Jeremiah also prophesized the end of Elam in the context of the doom
prophecies against the nations. Ultimately Elam, the invader par excellence, was only
one piece in the large mosaic of political movements in the Levant. All major polit-
ical and military powers (invaders), such as Assyria, Egypt, and Babylonia, as well
as minor kingdoms such as Moab, Edom, and Amon collapsed; would Elam be an
exception?
In sum, the Bible depicts Elam from two points of view: Elam the destroyer (Gen
14; Isa 21:2; 22:6; Jer 25:5; Ezek 32:24) and the destroyed Elam (Jer 49:34–39). An
analysis of the texts belonging to these categories suggests that they originated in
the pre-­exilic period. Consequently, Israel and Judah seem to have come into some
contact with Elam during this time, most likely during Assyrian and Babylonian inva-
sions when Elamite units were incorporated into the imperial forces and when the
bellicose nature of Elam came forth in its full strength.

Elam against the Canaanite coalition (Gen 14)

The first text mentioning Elam in the context of its expansionistic campaigns is Gene-
sis 14. The coalition of the Mesopotamian kings, their campaigns against the Western
Levant, and in particular their insertion into the Abraham cycle raise several ques-
tions regarding the composition and literary history of chapter 14 and its historical
reliability (Andreasen 1980; Granerød 2010).
Verses Gen 14:1–11 display a well-­known pattern of invasion which fits into a
literary genre defined by four steps: campaign-­ vassalage-­
rebellion-­punitive cam-
paign(s). The Bible used a similar literary genre on other occasions, in particular to
describe the fall of Samaria (2 Kgs 17:1–6) and the fall of Jerusalem (2 Kgs 24–25)
(Dubovský 2016). In these cases, the introductory verses describe an invasion by a
foreign king resulting in a period of vassalage (Gen 14:1–4; 2 Kgs 17:3; 24:1a). After
being subject to a foreign king, the vassals rebelled and a second, punitive, campaign
took place (Gen 14:4–12; 2 Kgs 17:4–6.23; 24:1b–10). In the case of the fall of Jeru-
salem, this literary pattern reflects the order of events described in the Babylonian
Chronicle (ABC 5). Judging by similarities between 2 Kgs 24 and ABC 5 as well as
other studies, scholars almost unanimously agree that 2 Kgs 24:1.8–17 matches the
actual order of historical events that took place during the invasions of Nebuchad-
nezzar in Judah between 604–597 BCE. A similar conclusion was also reached for the
fall of Samaria (2 Kgs 17). Thus, the Bible in Gen 14:1–11 uses a literary genre that
in other biblical accounts matches, as precisely as any ancient narrative did, the order
of historical events. From the historiographic viewpoint Gen 14:1–11 can be labeled
annalistic in style, describing the political instability and changing allegiances typical
of the 1st and 2nd millennium BCE.
Based on the similarities between the invasion literary genres, it can be concluded
that while verses 14:1–11 describe a normal order of events, they also contain a few
ellipses. The first ellipsis is between verses 1–3 and 4. After the list of kings and their

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armies, the Elamite troops, deployed in the valley of Siddim, were included (14:1–3).
However, there is no description of the battle between the two coalitions. Verse 4
passes directly to the result, presupposing the victory of the Mesopotamian coalition.
It summarizes 12 years of vassalage of the Levantine kings; 4b concludes with a short
note on the rebellion. The description of the punitive campaign led by the Elamite
king Chedorlaomer occupies most space in this narrative (14:5–12).
The strategy of this punitive campaign also corresponds to typical military strate-
gies of the 2nd and 1st millennium BCE characterized by the gradual harassment and
weakening of enemy forces (Westermann 1981: 190–192). The reconstruction of the
itinerary of the punitive campaign shows that Chedorlaomer and his Mesopotamian
allies marched southwards along the royal road in Transjordania, conquering first
Ashteroth-­karnaim and then other cities. After penetrating far enough into the south,
they turned westwards and conquered Kadesh. The Elamite king, Chedorlaomer, first
attacked the weakest elements of the coalition of the rebels (east and south) moving
along the royal road. Once the coalition had been weakened, he led his army against
the heart of the coalition of the rebels – Sodom and Gomorra. The debilitated coa-
lition could not withstand the attack and Sodom and Gomorra fell into the hands
of the invaders. The cities were conquered and looted, and their inhabitants were
deported. The rebels were defeated in the same place, the valley of Siddim, where they
had been defeated 13 years earlier. A similar strategy was also used by Tiglath-­pileser
III in 734–731 BCE when facing the Syro-­Ephraimite coalition and by Sargon II in his
glorious conquest of Babylon in 710–709 BCE (Dubovský 2006: 157–164).
An additional consideration that can cast light on the entangled problem of the
historicity of this chapter concerns its specific vocabulary (Wenham 1987: 318–320).
The tone of verses 14:1–11 is different from the rest of the Abraham cycle. It abounds
in geographical and ethnographical details, some of them known from the texts of the
1st and 2nd millennium BCE. Of the words occurring in this chapter, 4.5% are other-
wise unattested elsewhere in the Bible and another 6.5% occur only rarely. The note
in 14:7 identifying the city of En-­mishpat with Kadesh shows that the later editor
needed to explain a toponym no longer understandable for a reader of his period (cf.
also 14:8.17). Moreover, the expression “a thread or a sandal-­thong” in 14:23 also
occurs in the Akkadian and Egyptian texts (Wenham 1987: 318; Morschauser 2013).
It must be acknowledged, however, that no text has been preserved that would
directly or indirectly corroborate the existence of such a campaign, despite all schol-
arly efforts to connect it with the expansionistic policy of the Old-­Babylonian or
other periods and kingdoms (Block 1998: 226). Nor is the identification of the names
with heroes known from extra-­biblical sources certain. Moreover, the final text of
Gen 14 shows that the goal of the chapter was not to describe the military conflict
but to demonstrate the ability of Abraham, who was able to save his nephew Lot
from the clutches of potent enemies (Gen 14:12–16). Abraham’s victory serves as
a prototype for other military narrative cycles. Thus, Gideon defeated the superior
Midianite army (Jdg 6–7), and Joshua defeated Canaanite coalitions led by the Jeru-
salemite king Adoni-­sedeq and king Jabin of Hazor in Josh 10–11. By doing this, the
biblical authors set Abraham above all Mesopotamian and Levantine kings. As Sol-
omon exceeded the Mesopotamian kings in wisdom and richness (cf. 1 Kgs 4–5), so
Abraham exceeded them – Elamite kings included – in prowess. While five Canaanite
kings could not stop Chedorlaomer’s troops, Abraham with 318 men succeeded in

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defeating their coalition. Through the insertion of the story into the Abraham cycle,
the final redactor showed that Abraham’s prowess was not for personal glorification
but for the glorification of his family. Abraham, the pater familias par excellence, was
willing to risk his own life in order to rescue a member of his family and faith in God
(Sarna 1989: 101–103).
The description of Abraham’s military victory was further enlarged by a story
describing Melchizedek’s blessing of Abraham (Wenham 1987: 307) and recognizing
the suzerainty of the Almighty, the God of Abraham (Gen 14; 17–24). Since for a later
reader Salem evoked Jerusalem (GenApoc 22:13), the submission of Melchizedek
prefigured the submission of Jerusalem to Joshua and David. In short, the military
campaign of the Mesopotamian kings conducted against recalcitrant Canaaneans
was not the primary goal of this passage, as is demonstrated by several ellipses and
the redactional history of the chapter; rather it served as a narrative introduction to
one of the stories of the Abraham cycle.
In sum, despite the fact that there is no evidence to prove or disprove the historic-
ity of the campaigns described in Gen 14, the elements retrieved earlier suggest that
there is nothing in Gen 14 that would go against the mentality and customs of the
2nd and the early 1st millennium BCE. There are no clear indications that would urge
us to conclude that the core of Gen 14:1–11 was invented by post-­exilic redactors
compelled to justify their present by inventing the past. On the contrary, it stands to
reason to conclude that biblical writers describing the Elamite king Chedorlaomer
as leader of the Mesopotamian kings marching against the Levant drew this infor-
mation from a source they considered reliable and skillfully incorporated it into the
Abraham cycle, most likely in the period of the monarchy (Kallai 1998: 218–242) or
later (Glissmann 2009).
This source opens a first window onto the biblical perception of Elam. The word
“Elam” occurs twice in the narrative (Gen 14:1.9), although Symmachus’ Greek trans-
lation substitutes it with the word “Scythians”. In this chapter, Elam is represented by
its king Chedorlaomer (Gen 14:1.4.5.9.17). In the first campaign, he is listed as the
third member of the Mesopotamian coalition, whereas from v. 4 on he becomes the
leader of the coalition. He is then listed in first place (14:9) and in verses 14:4–5.17
the other kings, his allies, are mentioned without being named. This would suggest
that within the span of a few years the Mesopotamian coalition was restructured and
at a certain point Chedorlaomer took the lead. He proved to be an adroit leader, not
only able to lead a coalition of Mesopotamian kings but also an astute strategist. He
behaved like a typical Mesopotamian king; he and his allies plundered the city after
its conquest, taking booty and slaves. So the bellicose nature of the Elamites comes
forward at the outset of Israelite history. Elam is the leader of the invaders who were
defeated by Abraham’s men.

Elam against Babylon and Egypt (Isa 21:2; Ezek 32:24)

Isa 21:2: A stern vision is told to me; the betrayer betrays, and the destroyer destroys.
Go up, O Elam, lay siege, O Media; all the sighing she has caused I bring to an end
(NRSV).
Here Media and Elam are summoned for an attack. In order to explain this compli-
cated verse, several proposals have been made. It has been suggested that it describes

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a moment of confrontation between Assyria and Babylonia sometime in the 8th or

7th centuries BCE, probably ending with the conquest of Babylonia by Sargon II or
Sennacherib (Watts 2005: 328–329). Alternatively, since the passage reflects an anti-­
Babylonian stand similar to that described in Isa 47 (cf. also Jer 50:2; 51:8), it has been
postulated that the poem is contemporaneous with Isa 47, reflecting the situation just
before the fall of Babylon to the Persians in the 6th century BCE (Blenkinsopp 2000:
326). It is difficult to connect this vision with a precise historical event because the exis-
tence of a coalition between Medes and Elamites against Babylonia is not confirmed
by the available sources (Beuken 2007: 225–226). Rather, the call for an attack reflects
two themes. Firstly, the text seems to telescope the shifting of allegiances in Mesopota-
mia, a diplomatic game in which Elam played its part. Elam, the traditional supporter
of Babylonian resistance against Assyria, turned out to be the enemy attacking Babylon.
As it once betrayed Assyria, now it betrays its ally – Babylonia; as it once destroyed its
neighbors with the help of Babylonia, now it turns against Babylonia. Elam and Media
did not change their “destructive” and “treacherous” nature; they changed only their
target. The second theme is the repeated conquest of Babylon: in 710 by Sargon II; in
700 and 689 by Sennacherib; in 648 by Ashurbanipal; and by Cyrus II in 539 BCE. The
text would fit well into the period before Cyrus II’s invasion, presenting a pattern of the
rise and the fall of several Mesopotamian empires. According to Isa 21, Elam played an
important role in this intricate political and military game.
Similarly, according to Ezekiel (32:24), Elam comprises part of the army devastat-
ing Egypt. Verses 24 and 25 are virtually parallels and often called section Elam A by
biblical scholars (Block 1998: 223). Since the Neo-­Assyrian troops invaded Egypt,
and not the Neo-­Babylonian ones, it is possible that this passage reflects the fall of
Egypt into Assyrian hands.

Elam against Judah (Isa 22:6; Jer 25:25)

Isa 22:6: Elam bore the quiver with chariots and cavalry, and Kir uncovered the
shield (NRSV). Chapter 22 of the Book of Isaiah describes the attack by the foreign
troops against Jerusalem: Elam together with Aram and Kir was called to advance
against Judah. Verses in prose (22:8b – 11) connect the participation of Elam with
Neo-­Assyrian campaigns against Judah, in particular that of Sennacherib in 701 BCE
(Watts 2005: 342). Like the previous chapter (see above), chapter 22 can hardly be
connected with a precise historical event. Since Elam is also called to attack Jerusalem
in the context of Babylonian campaigns (Jer 25:25), and the Elamite troops might
have served in both the Neo-­Assyrian and Neo-­Babylonian armies, verse 22:6 could
be dated to different periods. Thus the verse could represent both Neo-­Assyrian and
Neo-­Babylonian plundering of Judah. (Blenkinsopp 2000: 334–335; Beuken 2007:
254). In sum, the chapter in poetic language says that Elam was one of several import-
ant political and military powers which were used by God symbolically as the whole
known world (Jer 25:19–26) to attack, plunder, and destroy Judah.

Oracle against Elam (Jer 49:34–39)

Jer 49:34–39 represents the longest passage dedicated to Elam in the Bible. Among
the nations mentioned in the oracle series (Jer 46–51), Elam represents the most

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distant kingdom and indeed the Book of Jeremiah is the only collection of prophecies
containing an oracle against it. Why did Jeremiah address a nation so far distant?
A few possible answers have been proposed (Lundbom 2004: 361). First, Elam was
an important world power and thus to claim YHWH’s sovereignty over the world
meant to affirm God’s rule over the whole world, that is, from Egypt to Elam. Second,
Elam was involved in the political events that directly or indirectly influenced Judah.
Third, the downfall of Elam served as a prototype for the downfall of Judah.
The different meanings of the oracle against Elam can be better understood when
it is inserted into its literary context. The oracle section (Jer 46–49) is placed after
Jeremiah’s controversy with the kings and nobles of Jerusalem (Jer 37–45) and is
followed by the oracle against Babylonia (Jer 50–51). The biblical writers depicted
Elam as one of nine political powers competing for sovereignty over the world or its
parts, all of which, Elam included, were doomed to destruction. The order of oracles
in the Hebrew text shows that its goal was to warn Jerusalem that no power, how-
ever important it had been, could resist God. Not only the most important empires
such as Egypt, Babylonia, and Elam collapsed, but the minor kingdoms surrounding
Judah, such as Philistia, Moab, Edom, Amon, and the Arabs also met a similar end.
Chapter 52 of Jeremiah shows that since Judah did not listen, it was destroyed in a
similar way to the other nine kingdoms – Elam included.
The aim of these oracles also determined the form and vocabulary of the oracle
against Elam. The order of the events described in Jeremiah is not logical (McKane
1996: 1246): military defeat (49:35), deportation (49:36), fear in front of the enemies
(49:37a), destruction (49:37b), restoration (49:38a), elimination of the ruling class
(49:38b), and restoration (49:39). The alternation of themes and lack of straightfor-
ward chronological order reflect the complex mechanics of the downfall of various
kingdoms, in particular the gradual Assyrian conquest of Elam (Dubovský 2013).
Also reflected are the vicissitudes during the last years of Samaria as described in
2 Kgs 15 and 17 (Dubovský 2014) and Jerusalem as described in 2 Kgs 24–25. Sim-
ilarly, the author employed several expressions often used for the description of the
fall of Jerusalem, such as “to bring four winds” and “to scatter . . . to the winds”
(1 Kgs 14:15: Ezek 20:23; 22:15), “exiles” (Deut 30:4; Isa 11:12), “to bring disaster
upon” (2 Kgs 22:16), and so on. Finally, from among the nine kingdoms, only the for-
mer status of three (Moab, Amon, and Elam) was restored. This sheds a different light
on the last four verses of the Book of Jeremiah (Jer 52:31–34). As the destiny of three
destroyed kingdoms was changed, the change of destiny of Jehoiachin on the Babylo-
nian throne could become the topos of the restoration of Judah after its destruction.
In sum, the main goal of the oracle section was not to describe the downfall of
the Levantine kingdoms but to create the theological and historical context for the
fall of Jerusalem. As the “bow of Elam”, the symbol of Elam’s military power, was
destroyed, so the symbols of Judean military resistance would be destroyed. As God
changed the destiny of Elam, God can change the destiny of Judah.
In contrast to the vivid description of the destruction of other kingdoms, Jer
49:34–39 gives no details on Elam, its culture, military power, or religion. “There are
no calls to attack, no summons to flight, no description of Elamite reactions, and no
expressions of sorrow or mourning.” (Keown et al. 2002: 342) The only more specific
term used for the description of Elam is “bow”, the mainstay of its power. However,
bow is a general expression for military power used also for other nations (Isa 5:28;

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21:17; Ezek 39:3). Similarly, most of the expressions mentioned earlier are typically
employed in the Bible to speak about oncoming disasters. These points raise the ques-
tion of whether the oracle against Elam was a literary creation intended as a warning
or in fact referred to a concrete historical event?
Despite the efforts of the final redactors to create a unified text, the composition of
the Hebrew text and the Greek translations demonstrate that the oracle against Elam
went through different redactional stages. As a result, the final Hebrew text cannot be
connected with any historical event; it alludes rather to various historical situations and
events, of which only some can be reconstructed from the extant extra-­biblical sources.
The first indirect allusion to a historical situation can be observed in Jer 49:37b,
38b, “I will bring disaster upon them, my fierce anger, says the LORD. I will send
the sword after them, until I  have consumed them;  .  .  . and destroy their king
and officials.” The vocabulary of these two verses reflects that of the fall of Judah
(2 Kgs 21:12; 25:18–21) and thus alludes to the complete destruction of Elam. Despite
several attempts to conquer Elam, only Ashurbanipal succeeded in breaking down its
resistance and looting Susa. His sword followed the Elamite rebels all around the
country and reduced the flourishing kingdom to ruins. These two verses of Jeremiah
allude to the final phase of the destruction of Elam, when the rebellious king and his
princes were removed. The whole country was filled with blood and the survivors
endured looting and deportation.
The second allusion is intrinsically connected with the addition of the superscrip-
tion in Jer 49:34, missing in Greek, “The word of the LORD that came to the prophet
Jeremiah concerning Elam, at the beginning of the reign of King Zedekiah of Judah.”
Since Zedekiah became king in 597 BCE, the superscription connects the fall of Elam
with the Neo-­Babylonian period. Similarly other superscriptions preserved in Hebrew
(Jer 46:1–2, 13, 25–26; 47:1) connect the oracles against the nations explicitly with
the Neo-­Babylonian period. The Babylonian Chronicle (ABC 5 r. 16’  – 20’) refers
to Nebuchadnezzar’s campaign along the river Tigris dated to 596/595 BCE, which
would correspond to the early years of Zedekiah, since the expression bərē’šît malkû
“at the beginning of the reign” can refer to the beginning of Zedekiah’s reign, not
only to his ascension year (Lundbom 2004: 362). The damaged lines of this chroni-
cle read, “In the ninth year (596/595), the month of [. . .] the king of Akkad and his
troops marched along the bank of the Tigris [. . .] the king of Elam [. . .] the king of
Akkad [. . .] which is on the bank of the Tigris he pitched his camp. While there was
still a distance of one day’s march between them, the king of Elam was afraid and,
panic falling on him, he returned to his own land.” It is difficult to reconstruct the
details of this campaign, but it can be safely concluded that Nebuchadnezzar pitched
his camp on the bank of the Tigris, while marching against a coalition of rebels,
among whom was also the king of Elam. The Elamite king, seeing the Babylonian
troops approaching, was struck with panic and escaped (Keown et al. 2002: 342).
A similar situation is vividly depicted in Jer 49:37: “I will terrify Elam before their
enemies, and before those who seek their life.”
The final verses of the oracle mention the restoration of Elam: “I will set my throne
in Elam . . . But in the latter days I will restore the fortunes of Elam” (Jer 49:38a,
39). The fortune of Elam was radically changed during the Persian period when it
became the heart of the Persian empire. The independent Elamite kingdom, devas-
tated by the Assyrians and only partially resurrected during the Neo-­Babylonian

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 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

period, completely lost its independence in 540 BCE when it was fully incorporated
into the Persian administrative orbit and became the province of Susiana. Besides any
religious meaning, the phrase “I will set my throne in Elam” could be taken as a refer-
ence to the importance of the city of Susa during the reigns of Cambyses II (530–522
BCE) and Darius I (522–486 BCE). In this period, the city of Susa was rebuilt anew
and became one of the capitals of the Persian empire. In the light of Isa 44:28; 45:1,
13, Cyrus II, the real founder of the Persian empire, was YHWH’s shepherd. YHWH
brought him to power and anointed him. In this post-­exilic interpretation of Persian
history “to set up God’s throne”, besides God’s sovereignty over the world, could
allude to the rise of the Persian empire. In this new political setting, the whole oracle
assumes a new meaning. The destruction of Elam now refers to Cyrus’ defeat of Elam
in 540 BCE, and the restoration of Elam refers to the flourishing of the province of
Susiana under the Achaemenid dynasty.
The last level of interpretation of Elamite history is given in the Greek translations.
The Septuagint changes the order of the oracles and eliminates some historical notes
by means of which the Masoretic Text situated the fall of Elam in the context of the
Neo-­Babylonian expansion. The Greek translators operated within a new historical
context in which Elam was part of the Parthian Kingdom, the successor of the Seleu-
cid empire (Holladay 1989: 314). For the Greek translators, the Parthian kingdom
(Elam) was not a distant kingdom but was the key power, more important than Egypt
and Babylonia. Consequently, the fall of Elam is an indirect prophecy of the fall of the
Persian empire and the rise of the Parthian kingdom.
In sum, the oracle against Elam in Jer 49 does not refer to one historical event but
telescopes various events and periods of Elamite history, starting with the Assyrian
conquest and ending with the Parthian Kingdom. Seen from this viewpoint, the oracle
against Elam summarized the different historical events and the political situation in
Elam during the first millennium BCE. The final redactor of the Greek and Hebrew
texts, following literary techniques typical of the post-­exilic period (Ben Zvi and
Levin 2012), skillfully reshaped the history of Elam to create a parallel story to the
downfall(s) and rise(s) of Israel and Judah.

Post-­Exilic Period: Elam – destination of Israelite and Judean

deportees
If Elam participated in the destruction of Israel and Judah, it is only logical to expect
that some deportees ended up in Elam. Several biblical texts refer to Israelites living
as deportees in Elam, and there are a few notes in the Bible mentioning that the exiles
would return from Elam to Jerusalem. The analysis of the biblical and other docu-
ments, however, shows that whereas there were almost no Israelite and Judean exiles
in Elam in the Neo-­Assyrian and Neo-­Babylonian periods, the presence of Jewish
settlers in Susiana (Iran) from the Persian period until now is well attested.

Jewish deportees in Elam in the Neo-­Assyrian and

Neo-­Babylonian periods?
Besides 2 Kgs 17–18 and 24–25, the Bible contains several notes on exiles (Ezek
20:23, 34; 22:15; 28:25; 34:6; 36:19; Isa 11:11; 43:5–6; 60:4, 9; 66:20; Jer 29:14;

36
 — Elam and the Bible —

30:11; Zech 2:1–4; 10–11; 8:7; Esther 2:5–6; 3:8; Ezra 2; Neh 2:1). Analyzing
these texts, H. Wildberger (1991: 492) concluded that the Jews were living in Elam
from ancient times. Indeed the later texts (Esther, Daniel, Ezra and Nehemiah)
indisputably refer to Elam as the place where Jewish exiles lived. On the contrary,
according to 2 Kgs 17–18; 24–25, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, the Israelites and the
Judeans were not deported to Elam during the Assyrian and Babylonian depor-
tations. Prosopographical studies also corroborate this conclusion. In the Neo-­
Assyrian and Neo-­Babylonian periods, the presence of Israelite and Judean names
is attested in Assyria and Babylonia (Oded 2000: 92–103) as well as in Media
(Zadok 2004: 100–106), but no west-­Semitic names are attested in Elam at this
time (Zadok 2004: 103–106) and only one in northwestern Iran Ú-ri-­ia-­a (Zadok
2002: 96). This analysis shows that during the Neo-­Assyrian and Neo-­Babylonian
periods, the deportation of the Israelites and the Judeans to Elam was limited or
non-­existent. Since Media and Babylonia bordered Elam, and the Israelites and
Judeans were deported to these regions, it is possible that some exiles could have
passed into the hands of Elamites.
The redactional analysis of the most important note referring to the exiles in
Elam (Isa 11:11) confirms the previous conclusion. The verse reads On that day
the Lord will extend his hand yet a second time to recover the remnant that is left
of his people, from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Ethiopia, from Elam,
from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the coastlands of the sea (NRSV). Similar
toponyms are arranged in Isaiah in various order. Since Assyria and Egypt are the
first two toponyms of Isa 11:11 and also occur in verse 11:16, most commentators
agree that these two names belong to the original stratum and that the rest of the
toponyms are later additions. The city of Hamath mentioned in this list creates a
problem because there is no evidence that Jews were ever exiled there (Watts 2005:
215–216). In brief, according to the earlier stratum, the exiles would return only
from Egypt and Assyria, while in the later expansion of the text dated to the post-­
exilic period, the exiles returned also from Elam and other countries (Blenkinsopp
2000: 267). It makes sense to conclude that Elam was not the primary destination
of Israelite and Judean exiles during the Neo-­Assyrian and Neo-­Babylonian peri-
ods. Furthermore, the reference to exiles in Elam found in Isaiah belongs to a later
period.

Jews in Elam during the Persian and later periods

Elam is known in post-­exilic biblical literature, but here it is possible to observe a sig-
nificant difference in the vocabulary used for referring to and depicting the Elamites
and Elam. The post-­exilic texts use three terms to refer to Elam: Elam, Susa, and
Elymias/Elymeans, the differences between which are far from being clear. The books
of Ezra, Nehemiah, and Daniel used both Elam and Susa and seemed to distinguish
between both toponyms. If the expression dhw’ in Ezr 4:9 is read as dhy’, then Ezra’s
list distinguishes the inhabitants of Susa from the Elamites. Ł. Toboła came to a
similar conclusion when analyzing both terms in Dan 8:2 (Toboła 2013: 76–80).
In 1–2 Chronicles, the term Elam is used exclusively as an eponym or as a personal
name, but no longer as a toponym. Moreover, neither the Hebrew nor Greek version
of Esther employed the term Elam. Both versions use exclusively the toponym Susa.

37
 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

Later Hellenistic sections of the Bible abandoned the terms Elam and Susa, preferring
the terms “Elymais”, “Elymeans” in referring to Elam (Tob 2:10; Jdt 1:6; 1 Macc
6;1). Finally, Josephus reserved the term Elam for the eponym in the table of nations,
and in the rest of his work he used only Susa (Ant. 10:269, etc.) and Elymais (Ant.
12:354–355).
This suggests that the vocabulary used for referring to Elam and Elamites under-
went change. In the texts that originated in the pre-­exilic period, such as Genesis,
Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Ezekiel, the biblical writers used Elam exclusively, never Susa
or Elymais. The early post-­exilic books, such as Ezra, Nehemiah, and also Daniel,
employed both Elam and Susa; however, the authors seemed to distinguish between
the two. Later historiographical and hagiographical works used Elam exclusively as
an eponym or a personal name. They abandoned the toponym Elam, preferring Susa
and Elymais (Josephus, Maccabees, Esther, Tobit, Judith).
Not only the vocabulary, but also the main characteristics of Elam changed.
Whereas in the earlier biblical texts (Genesis, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel) Elam was
praised and feared for its military power, the attitude towards it changed in the
books dated to the post-­exilic period. From the Persian period onwards, Elam and
its capital Susa became one of the most important Jewish settlements. According to
Ezr 2:7.31; Neh 7:12.34, from among the numerous Jews living in Iran, a total of
2,508 returned to Jerusalem (cf. also Ant. 10:269, 272). These texts present Elam/
Susa/Elymais as the most important place in which the Jews lived, thrived, and even
reached high positions on the political and cultural ladder. Elam and Susa are no
longer presented as military powers but rather as thriving economic, political, and
cultural hubs. This perception is in particular emphasized in the Book of Esther (Est
1:1; cf. also Ant. 11:220) and partly also in Daniel (8:2) and in Nehemiah (1:1). The
plot of the Book of Esther is situated in Susa, where the Jews faced a new cultural
and religious milieu. The problems between the Jews and the inhabitants of Susa in
Esther did not take the form of military conflict but assumed the equally detrimen-
tal form of diplomatic intrigues characteristic of the Persian and Hellenistic royal
courts.
Since the Bible does not mention deportations of Israelites and Judeans to Elam,
the presence of numerous Jews in Susa (Est 2:5; 9:6.15) during the Persian and later
periods caused problems for the ancient Jewish historiographer Josephus. To explain
the Jewish presence in Elam, he indicated that some Jews had moved from Babylon
to Susa (Ant. 11:204).
Finally, the term Elam appears once in the New Testament, in Acts 2:9. The Greek
uses a special form Ἐλαμῖται that has its corresponding form in Αἰλαμῖται in the Sep-
tuagint. The form Αἰλαμῖται is also unusual in comparison with the more common
term Αιλαμ for Elam. The term Αἰλαμῖται occurs only in Isa 11:11; 21:2; 22:6. A pro-
posal that this is a list based on Paulus Alexandrinus’s Rudiments in Astrology is no
longer followed (Barrett 2004: 121). A more similar list appears in Josephus (Apion
2:228; War 2:398; Ant. 14:114–118). Luke, who often used Septuagint terminol-
ogy, takes this Isaianic term, underlining that the Pentecostal events are in parallel
with the return of exiles to Jerusalem (Isa 11:11). However, similar lists are widely
attested and, by introducing people from exotic nations among which there are also
the Elamites, the passage conveys “the capacity of the gospel to address all sorts and
conditions of people in their own terms” (Pervo 2009: 66).

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 — Elam and the Bible —

AB B REVIATIO NS
ABC Grayson, A.K. 1975. Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. Locust Valley:
Augustin.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Andreasen, N.-E.A. 1980. Genesis 14 in its Near Eastern Context. In: Hallo, W.W., White, J.B.
and Evans, C.D. (eds.) Scripture in Context I: Essays on the Comparative Method. Pitts-
burgh, PA: The Pickwick Press, 59–77.
Barrett, C.K. 2004. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, Inter-
national Critical Commentary. London – New York: T&T Clark.
Ben Zvi, E. and Levin, C. 2012. Remembering and forgetting in Early Second Temple Judah.
Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Beuken, W.A.M. 2007. Jesaja 13–27, Herders Theologischer Kommentar zum Alten Testament.
Freiburg – Basel – Wien: Herder.
Blenkinsopp, J. 1992. The Pentateuch: An Introduction to the first five books of the Bible. New
York: Doubleday.
———. 2000. Isaiah 1–39. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, 1st ed.,
The Anchor Bible 19. New York: Doubleday.
Block, D.I. 1998. The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.
Brinkman, J.A. 1986. The Elamite-­Babylonian Frontier in the Neo-­Elamite Period, 750–625
BC. In: De Meyer, L., Gasche H. and Vallat F. (eds.) Fragmenta Historiae Elamicae: Mélanges
offerts à M. J. Steve. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 199–207.
Cross, F.M. 1998. From Epic to Canon: History and Literature in Ancient Israel. Baltimore,
MD: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Dubovský, P. 2006. Tiglath-­pileser III’s Campaigns in 734–732 B.C.: Historical Background of
Isa 7, 2 Kgs 15–16 and 2 Chr 27–28. Biblica 87: 153–170.
———. 2013. Dynamics of the Fall: Ashurbanipal’s Conquest of Elam. In: de Graef, K. and
Tavernier, J. (eds.) Susa and Elam: Archaeological, Philological, Historical and Geograph-
ical Perspectives: Proceedings of the International Congress Held at Ghent University,
December 14–17, 2009. Leiden – Boston: Brill, 451–470.
———. 2014. Why Did the Northern Kingdom Fall According to 2 Kings 15? Biblica 95:
321–346.
———. 2016. Suspicious Similarities. A Comparative Study of the Falls of Samaria and Jeru-
salem. In: P. Dubovský, D. Markl and J.-P. Sonnet (eds.) The Fall of Jerusalem and the Rise
of Torah. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck.
Glissmann, V. 2009. Genesis 14: A Diaspora Novella. Journal for the Study of the Old Testa-
ment 34: 33–45.
Granerød, Gard. 2010. Abraham and Melchizedek: Scribal Activity of Second Temple Times in
Genesis 14 and Psalm 110 (Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft
406). Berlin: De Gruyter.
Holladay, W.L. 1989. Jeremiah 2: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Jeremiah, Chap-
ters 26–52. Philadelphia: Fortress Press.
Kallai, Z. 1998. Biblical Historiography and Historical Geography. Collection of Studies,
Beiträge zur Erforschung des Alten Testaments und des Antiken Judentums. Frankfurt am
Main: Peter Lang.
Keown, G.L., Scalise, P.J. and Smothers, T. 2002. Jeremiah 26–52, Word Biblical Commentary.
Dallas: Word Incorporated.
Lundbom, J.R. 2004. Jeremiah 37–52. A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary,
The Anchor Bible 21C. New York: Doubleday.

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Malamat, A. 2001. History of Biblical Israel. Major Problems and Minor Issues, Culture and
History of the Ancient Near East 7. Leiden – Boston, MA: Brill.
McKane, W.F.B.A. 1996. A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Jeremiah, vol. II. Edin-
burgh: T.  & T. Clark.
Morschauser, S. 2013. Campaigning on Less Than a Shoe-­String: An Ancient Egyptian Parallel
to Abram’s ‘Oath’ in Genesis 14.22–23. Journal for the Study of the Old Testament 38:
127–144.
Oded, B. 2000. The Settlements of the Israelite and the Judean Exiles in Mesopotamia in the
8th–6th Centuries BCE. In: Galil, G. and Weinfeld, M. (eds.) Studies in Historical Geogra-
phy and Biblical Historiography. Presented to Zecharia Kallai. Leiden – Boston, MA: Brill,
91–103.
Pervo, R.I. 2009. Acts: A Commentary, Hermeneia. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press.
Sarna, N.M. 1989. The JPS Torah Commentary: Genesis. Philadelphia – New York – Jerusa-
lem: The Jewish Publication Society.
Toboła, Ł. 2013. “In the Citadel of Susa in the Province of Elam”: The Chronological Sig-
nificance of the Topographical Annotation in Daniel 8:2. The Polish Journal of Biblical
Research 12: 71–84.
Watts, J.D.W. 2005. Isaiah 1–33 (Revised Edition), Word Biblical Commentary. Nashville, TN:
Thomas Nelson.
Wenham, G.J. 1987. Genesis 1–15, Word Biblical Commentary. Waco, TX: Word Books.
Westermann, C. 1981. Genesis 12–36: A  Commentary. Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing
House.
Wildberger, H. 1991. Isaiah 1–12: A Commentary, translated by Th.H. Trapp. Minneapolis,
MN: Fortress Press.
Zadok, R. 2002. The Ethno-­Linguistic Character of Northwestern Iran and Kurdistan in the
Neo-­Assyrian Period. Old City of Jaffa: Archaeological Center Publications.
———. 2004. Israelites, Judeans and Iranians in Mesopotamia and Adjacent Regions. In:
Ellens, J.H., Ellens, D.L., Knierim, R.P. and Kalimi, I. (eds.) Theological and Cultural Stud-
ies in Honor of Simon John De Vries, God’s Word for Our World 2. London – New York:
T. & T. Clark International, 98–127.

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 CHAPTER THREE

FRANCE AND ELAM

Nicole Chevalier*

“But Elam, ancient, true Elam, famous rival of Babylon and Nineveh, was still sleep-
ing underground and had not yet spoken.”
Father Vincent Scheil 1911

O n March 8, 1911, in a lecture on “The excavations and the history of Babylo-

nia, Assyria and Elam”, Father Vincent Scheil, the epigraphist of the Délégation
scientifique française en Perse, described the state of knowledge about Elam before
the research initiated at Susa in 1897. In a tradition dating back to Paul-­Emile Botta,
Fulgence Fresnel and Ernest de Sarzec, Scheil stressed that after having “revealed the
archives of the old world at Nineveh, at Babylon, at Telloh”, France again, through
its excavations at Susa had “the ever growing and most envied honour of resurrecting
the history of Elam, starting from its remotest origins”. With these patriotic remarks
made to the Comité de l’Asie française  – a group of political and economic influ-
ence established ten years earlier – Scheil introduced his presentation on the recent
progress in the field of Elamite studies since France had obtained the monopoly on
excavations in Persia in 1895 (Scheil 1937: 46).
When it began its research, the Délégation was not the first to have been inter-
ested in the ancient Elamite city of Susa. During the 19th century, several travellers,
mainly English, had visited the ruins, but the few remains they spotted could not yet
be identified.1 Subsequently two missions – one supported by Britain and the other
by France – undertook research which was mainly concerned with the Achaemenid
period. Certainly some Elamite remains were discovered, but they were too modest to
reveal much, as evidenced by the huge and thoroughly documented Histoire de l’art
dans l’antiquité by Georges Perrot and Charles Chipiez, whose volumes on oriental
antiquities published between 1884 and 1890 ignore the civilization of Elam: Father
Scheil’s “true Elam” remained to be discovered.
For a long time, France did not appear to be in the best position to make Susa and
Elam a privileged subject of study. Although the English were able to visit Susiana,
Charles Texier in 1838, then architect Pascal Coste and painter Eugène Flandin in
1839–1840 – amongst the rare Frenchmen to visit Persia – were unable to enter this

41
 — Nicole Chevalier —

region, which was regularly subject to tribal revolts. The meagre data and poor draw-
ings obtained by Coste and Flandin from Baron de Bode, counsellor at the Russian
embassy, were not published and probably helped to soften their regrets.
However, the two missions, the first from Britain and the second from France,
opened the road to the latter for further research in Elam. Explorations between 1850
and 1852 at the location of the Elamite city of Susa by Colonel Williams and William
Kennet Loftus did not give the results expected by H.C. Rawlinson, who supervised
excavations in Mesopotamia for the Trustees of the British Museum. They were pre-
maturely halted in April 1852 when Loftus transferred his efforts to more promising
Mesopotamian sites (Loftus 1857: 317–433; Curtis 1993: 15; 1997: 45). However,
the success of the mission of Marcel Dieulafoy (1885–1886), magnified by the display
of the remains of Persian kings at the Louvre, prompted France to continue research,
driven by the fear of seeing Britain, in spite of its earlier lack of interest, asserting a
“right of priority” over the site.

T H E FIRST F RENCH AT SU S A: THE M IS S IO N O F

MARCEL DIEULAFOY AN D THE J O U RNE Y O F
JACQUES DE M O RG AN
It was only in the late 19th century during the journey undertaken by Marcel and
Jane Dieulafoy through Persia and Mesopotamia (February 1881–April 1882) that
France became truly interested in Persia, and Susa in particular. An engineer from the
Ponts-­et-­Chaussées, passionate about the connections between Oriental and West-
ern art, Dieulafoy was finally able to visit Susa on 14 January  1882. Immediately
he was convinced of its interest and wished to start excavations. On his return to
France, his friendship with Louis de Ronchaud, director of the Musées Nationaux,
helped further his project. Thanks to the latter and to the Ministry of Education, he
obtained funding, modest but sufficient, to be able to carry out the work. It remained
for René de Balloy, representative of France in Tehran, to obtain a firman from Nasr
ed-­Din Shah authorizing research in this insecure region of Khuzestan. The firman
was granted on December 7, 1884, not without difficulty. Thus was established the
groundwork that enabled French scholars to settle in Susa for the long term.2
When on February  26, 1885, Marcel Dieulafoy (1844–1920), accompanied by
Jane and two assistants  – Charles Babin, engineer at the Ponts-­et-­Chaussées and
Frédéric Houssaye, a naturalist – arrived at Susa, his main goal was to resurrect the
“Achaemenid palaces, where Greece, Egypt and western Asia had brought their trib-
ute and their treasures” [Figure 3.1] (J. Dieulafoy 1888: 2). During the first campaign
(February  26, 1885–May  13, 1885), after conducting a topographic survey with
Babin (M. Dieulafoy 1893, Pl. II)3 and recognising the apadana (audience hall), of
which Loftus had made the first plan, Dieulafoy dug several trenches in the Apadana
mound and at various points of the Acropole and Ville Royale mounds (M. Dieula-
foy 1885a: 57; 1893: 424; 1913: 2–3).4 During the second campaign (December 15,
1885–1886), for reason of lack of funds and especially time, he focused his efforts on
the Apadana mound and completed his work in haste. Indeed, the mission became for
various reasons a cause of concern for the Persian government, which had requested
the end of the excavations since June 1885, saying they could not guarantee the safety
of the French archaeologists: the presence of Christians near the tomb of Daniel was

42
 — France and Elam —

Figure 3.1  Jane and Marcel Dieulafoy, Frédéric Houssaye and Charles Babin
at Susa 1885 (after Dieulafoy J. A Suse. Journal de fouilles 1888: 239).

provoking irritation in the population. Finally, the Shah reluctantly agreed to one
last campaign which was not to exceed four months. Despite the shortened work,
when the cruiser Le Sané loaded the latest discoveries, France could be proud of the
results. The presentation of the finds, including the frieze of lions, the archers and the
monumental bull capital, opened on June 6, 1888 by President Carnot at the Louvre,
was the striking proof.
However, even if the results were decisive for the Persian period, by digging
trenches that did not exceed four metres in depth Dieulafoy did not succeed in bring-
ing Elamite Susa to light; although he did discover some objects older than the Achae-
menids. Like Loftus, he brought back terracotta figurines, some dating to the second
half of the 2nd millennium (Curtis 1993: 44, Pl. 9; 1997: 43, Figure 26; M. Dieula-
foy 1893: 435) and inscribed bricks from Susa and Bandar-­Bushehr acquired from
Joseph Malcolm, whom he had met during his first trip to Persia (J. Dieulafoy 1887:
515; M. Dieulafoy 1893: 308–309, 311, Figure 193; 1913: 26). Eugène Ledrain and
Jules Oppert translated the inscriptions “despite the immense difficulties of decipher-
ing the Susian texts” (M. Dieulafoy 1893: 308, n. 1).
Despite this success, the future of the excavations at Susa was uncertain because
the Shah opposed the resumption of work that would disturb the local population.
Above all, he was offended by the attitude of Dieulafoy, who ignored the terms of the
firman concerning the sharing of discoveries. The Direction des Beaux-­Arts which

43
 — Nicole Chevalier —

supported the excavations, the French legation in Tehran and Dieulafoy all shared the
same concern: that if France agreed to the suspension of work, it did not renounce the
rights it believed it had according to the firman that had been obtained. So for almost
ten years, the Shah denied not only any request for excavations at Susa but also for
requests for excavations in the whole of Persia, as evidenced by the exploration car-
ried out by Jacques de Morgan (Morgan 1997: 249–327).
The journey undertaken by Morgan between 1889 and 1891 is a milestone in the
history of the discovery of Elam by France. Firstly, it enabled the French legation in
Tehran to fully appreciate the interest of Susa and actively engage in negotiations.
Secondly, it would reveal a man with vast scientific expertise who could offer an alter-
native to Dieulafoy, who was experiencing difficulties with the Shah. Finally, when he
visited Susa, Morgan was mainly interested in Elamite remains.
By training, Morgan (1857–1924) was a geologist and an engineer who studied
at the École des Mines; his great love was for prehistory; but he was also an ethno-
logist, naturalist and numismatist. The diversity of his interests and skills explains his
desire to add, when conducting research in Persia, scientists from different disciplines,
linking archaeology with all sciences that could help to comprehend the evolution of
man. Thus, in those pioneering days he was, as Pierre Amiet (1988: 16; 1997a: 94)
put it, “the architect of a global history of the oldest Oriental Antiquity”.
It was during this trip that Morgan, whose beginnings as an oriental archaeologist
were recent, became interested in Elam. During his stay in the Caucasus (1887–1889),
where he undertook an extensive exploration and study of prehistoric cemeteries, he
decided to abandon definitively his engineering career to devote himself to archaeo-
logy. On his return to France, he was recognised as “a fervent archaeologist, a skilled
excavator, an outstanding draftsman, whose exceptional skills could be happily
employed in some special trip” (Chevalier 2009a: 92). It was in this favourable con-
text that he obtained funding for a vast exploration in Russia, the Ottoman Empire
and northern Persia.
In Russia, as in the Ottoman Empire, Morgan was unable to carry out the pro-
gramme decided upon in Paris. Similarly in Persia, where he was to explore the region
of Astarabad, Mazandaran and Gilan, he did not obtain permission to carry out
excavations. Also, in April 1891, after going in the Mukri region of Kurdistan, which
he mapped for the future Mozzafer ed-­Din Shah, to Hamadan and the District of
Zohab, he decided to remain in Persia. He traversed the regions of Pusht-­e Kuh and
Lorestan to reach Khuzestan: his goal was Susa. When on September  2, 1891, he
reached Dizful, Morgan drew up a geographic, ethnographic and linguistic map of
the area. Above all, he had undertaken “the comprehensive study of the countries
which formerly were part of Elam and the border regions of the kingdom”. He was
able to draw the “archaeological map of Elam”: “I made this map as complete as pos-
sible in terms of geography, I have marked all the ancient remains, tepes, tells, ruins,
stelae, tombs etc . . . All roads, paths, sources, so I hope through it to determine the
position of the cities mentioned in Assyrian inscriptions” (Morgan 1895 card: Pl. 12;
1997: 310; Chevalier 2009a: 98).
Susa, where Morgan stayed for a week, remained to be studied. Impressed by the
height of the mound of the Acropole which he estimated to be between 34 and 38
metres above the plain, he imagined the future works: “The mound of the Acropole
contains stone tools. At the top I found fragments of Arab pottery; in the intermediate

44
 — France and Elam —

levels I encountered debris that I attributed to the Elamite era. Thus, this tell alone
contains remains from all ages; we should attack it first to regain the lost history of
Elam and not the lower mounds that surround it” (Morgan 1896: 177, Figure 151,
180–181; 1902a: 6). Finally, in the event of the Shah conceding the site, Morgan
wrote a report and drafted a plan of the land to acquire for the French legation in
Tehran which for five years strived to keep Susa for France.
Scientifically speaking, the mission in Persia, whose results were published between
1894 and 1905, was a success. In the first part of the fourth volume, devoted to
“Recherches archéologiques”, Morgan presented a significant “Etude de l’Elam”
(Morgan 1896: 173–234). After having defined Elam as consisting of “two distinct
parts: Upper Elam, mountainous and almost inaccessible, and Susiana or Lower
Elam, formed by alluvial plains, but protected against the Chaldeans by an impass-
able swamp”, he addressed the issue of language. In this regard, he acknowledged
that little is known and that the few known documents are divided “into two catego-
ries, archaic inscriptions on the soft clay of bricks, and the more recent texts engraved
on the rocks of Mal-­Emir”, and referred to the communication of Jules Oppert on
“Les Inscriptions en langue susienne”, made in 1873 to the Congrès des Orientalistes
(Oppert 1876: 179–216). Generally, for civilization as for geography, Morgan based
his work on the main source then available: the Annales des rois d’Assyrie translated
in 1874 by Joachim Ménant. About the “archaeological map” he explains, “I tried
to trace on the modern map the various expeditions of Assyria against Elam; relying
on texts, I used my knowledge of these regions to deduce the various strategic moves
of the Assyrian armies. I do not pretend to have irrevocably fixed the exact position
of the cities, but at least I have in this study indicated the progress of expeditions.
More detailed research would require surveys in all ancient places, in the many tells
that cover both the plain of Susa and the valleys of the mountains of Upper Elam”
(Morgan 1895: Pl. 12; 1896: 222).
Another positive point, and not the least, by transmitting maps and a report on
the oilfields of Qasr-­e-­Shirin, Morgan earned the benevolence of the Shah, who gave
him the medal of the Grand Officer of the “Lion and Sun”. On this subject Morgan
explains: “Receiving this distinction was very pleasant to me; it shows that my stay
in Persia will leave a memory that will facilitate the trips of the missionaries who will
come after me” (Chevalier 2009a: 97, 100). However, the French still waited four
years before being able to return to Susa.

T H E FRENCH MONOPOLY O F E X CAVATIO NS

IN P ERSIA (1 8 9 5 )
After the return of Dieulafoy, France did not envisage taking on research in all the
sites of Persia: only Susa was of interest. But at Tehran, Balloy became convinced from
1891 onwards that the acquisition of the rights over the entirety of excavations was
the ideal solution that would allow the French to exclude competitors and to work
when and where they wished. In 1894, in agreement with Paris, he began negotiations
with the Persian government. On May 12, 1895, these culminated in the signing of an
agreement through which France obtained, through a payment of 50,000 gold francs,
the rights over all excavations in Persia. Finally, five years later during his visit to Paris
on the occasion of the Exposition universelle, Mozzafer ed-­Din Shah – successor of

45
 — Nicole Chevalier —

Nasr ed-­Din  – signed, on August  11, 1900, a new agreement that differed among
other things on the issue of the sharing of the finds. The 1895 agreement provided
for an equal division of discoveries on the principle of the firman of Dieulafoy, with a
special status for gold and silver objects that could be bought by France. In the 1900
agreement, the principle of the sharing of objects was to be maintained in all parts of
Persia, but those discovered in Susiana were to be entirely assigned to France. It is on
this principle that the excavations in Persia functioned until 1927, the date of the ter-
mination of the agreement. It is in this very particular context of monopoly that the
French Ministry of Education created the Délégation Scientifique Française en Perse
in 1897 (Chevalier ed. 1997: 76–79). It only remained to choose the man capable of
taking responsibility for such an unparalleled institution.
At this time, two men had proved their worth. Dieulafoy, in bringing back Persian
antiquities, was at the origin of the Iranian collection of the Louvre. But by attract-
ing the displeasure of Nasr ed-­Din Shah, he did not have the support of the French
legation. As for Morgan, who had planned to go back to Persia to study the south
and east of the country, he was sent to Egypt at the head of the office of Antiquities
(1892–1897) where he became renowned for his significant discoveries at Dahshur
and Naqadeh, supplemented by the publication of his Recherches sur les origines de
l’Egypte (1897), in which he laid the foundation for studies on Egyptian prehistory.
However, the publication of the first volumes of his Mission scientifique en Perse
(1894–1905) shows that Persia remained at the centre of his concerns. In Paris, his
good relations with the Ministry of Education, responsible for implementing the Con-
vention, and in Tehran, with the French legation and Mozzafer ed-­Din, worked in his
favour and helped to have him recalled from Egypt. On April 19, 1897, Morgan was
made responsible for directing all archaeological research in Persia under the title of
Délégué général. On July 21, 1897, the Parliament voted for him to receive a starting
credit of 100,000 francs and a sum of 130,000 francs as an annual work allowance.
After his trip to Persia and his stay in Egypt, Morgan believed that Susa held the
key to his research: “In the Nile Valley, I had become convinced that the first civiliza-
tions, the origin of the Egyptian empire, proceeded from the Chaldeans and that the
plains of Mesopotamia were, therefore, the birthplace of human progress. Susa, by its
very remote antiquity, presented itself as a solution to the largest and most important
problem of our origins. This city, in my opinion, had belonged to the primitive world
that had seen the discovery of writing, the use of metals, the beginnings of art. If the
problem of origins is ever to be solved, it is in Chaldea and especially at Susa that we
need to look for the elements” (Morgan 1902a: 16). With the agreement of the Min-
istry of Education, Morgan decided to engage in Susa the bulk of the financial and
human resources of the Délégation in order to conduct their large-­scale investigations
to reach the most ancient levels. At the end of 1897, the conditions were in place for
Elam to become a long-­term domain of French research.

The Délégation scientifique française en Perse and Elam

(1897–1912)
“It has been said a hundred times and printed that the Délégation en Perse at Susa
resumed the work carried out by the Dieulafoy mission. This is a mistake I would not
have responded to if it had not, by its frequency, become obsessive. The Dieulafoy

46
 — France and Elam —

mission set out to study the Achaemenid period: they focused their efforts on the
ruins belonging to that time, leaving untouched the entire area of the Elamite ruins,
which is the only object of my works. The palace of Xerxes, Artaxerxes and others,
did not affect the choice I made of Susa; it is the history of Elam that I was looking
for” (Morgan 1905: 10).
When on December 16, 1897, Morgan arrived at Susa, ten years had passed since
the Dieulafoy mission. A small, modestly funded team was replaced by the Déléga-
tion which had been provided with significant financial and human resources. Yet
very quickly it became obvious that France had neither the financial nor human
means to implement a monopoly over the entire Persian territory. Despite his efforts,
Morgan never managed to increase his budget, which contributed to the restriction of
his main focus to the site of Susa during the 15 years of his leadership.
On the 1st of May 1898, the Délégation moved to the “Château” built to the north
of the Acropole to protect the archaeologists against repeated attacks by various tribes
[Figure 3.2] (Morgan 1902a: 54–60; Jéquier 1968: 123–124; Chevalier 2009b: 108–
113). The research team consisted of assistants that Morgan had met in Egypt, such
as Gustave Jéquier (1897–1902), Joseph-­Etienne Gautier (1898–1907) and Georges
Lampre, accompanied by his wife (1897–1906). From the beginning, Morgan enlisted
especially the skills of Father Jean-­Vincent Scheil (1897–1940), an eminent Assyri-
ologist (André-­Salvini 1997) with whom he had already collaborated. In 1891 they
published the inscriptions of the stele of Kel-­i-­Chin, the reliefs of Sheikh Khan and
Ser-­i-­poul, of which Morgan took impressions during his trip to Persia (Morgan 1896:
159–166, 265–274). Later other collaborators appeared, among others, Maurice
Pézard (1909–1912), a graduate from the École du Louvre. Above all, in 1903 Roland
de Mecquenem, a young mining engineer and paleontologist, joined Morgan and from
1908 regularly replaced him in the field (Amiet 1997b; Spycket 1997).
In the first years, the mission operated on a rhythm of two consecutive years in Persia;
two excavation campaigns – limited to winter and spring because of the heat – separated
by a summer study trip in cooler countries. The following summer, the team returned to
France to rest and eventually to occupy themselves with the finds sent to the Louvre and
prepare the publications [Figure 3.3]. Indeed, Morgan had anticipated rapid communi-
cation of the work within a series inaugurated in 1900: Mémoires de la Délégation en
Perse. Up to 1912, 13 volumes appeared under his leadership. Scheil was an important
contributor. Of the 16 volumes which he published in this collection, eight appeared
during the Morgan period; publication of the “Textes élamites-­sémitiques” and “Textes
élamites-­anzanites” was alternated. Notably, at the end of 1902, Scheil gave the com-
plete copy and translation of the Code of Hammurabi, discovered in December 1901
and January 1902 (Mémoires IV 1902: 11–162; André-­Salvini 2003: 8–12).
In 1997, in his presentation of the “Bilan archéologique de la Délégation en
Perse”, Pierre Amiet emphasised how delicate this exercise was; it was likely to lead
to a judgement of the institution according to criteria that were not those of the time
(Amiet 1997a: 94); this remark is especially true due to the fact that in his time Mor-
gan was considered a skilled excavator (Lagrange 1913: 126).
December 18, 1897, two days after his arrival at Susa, Morgan started his work
based on Babin’s plan, the quality of which he thought well of. First, in order to locate
the most ancient levels on the southern slopes of the Acropole, he dug five galleries
with the assistance of a well-­digger according to a method that had been successfully

47
 — Nicole Chevalier —

Figure 3.2  Jacques de Morgan in the “Chateau” of Susa (courtesy of photographic

archives of the Départment des Antiquités orientales,
Musée du Louvre)..

tested in Egypt. He also opened 14 trenches: two in the Ville Royale in order to study
its surface; seven on the Apadana to make checks, judging this research to be “of a
very secondary interest”; and finally, five on the Acropole (Mémoires I 1900: 81–110;
VIII 1905: 45–51). To clear the rubble, he would use up to 100 Decauville trucks of

48
 — France and Elam —

Figure 3.3  Jacques de Morgan and Father Vincent Scheil. “The inventory of the
archaeological discoveries from Susa at the Louvre Museum” (After L’Illustration, n° 3075, I
February 1902: 69).

300 litres each on tracks and up to 1200 workers at a time (Mecquenem and Amiet
1980: 6). As emphasised by André Parrot, while aspiring to do scientific work, Mor-
gan conceived his excavations as an engineer, according to a method described by him
as being “industrial”. Organising a methodical evacuation of the spoil, he divided
the 35 metres of the height of the Acropole into seven artificial levels by opening
trenches in tiers with a height and width of five metres, which took on a vertiginous
appearance (Parrot 1946 I: 172, II: 37–39 Figure 1; Mecquenem and Amiet 1980:
8–9; Mousavi 1996: 7–12). In January 1913, the confusion of the architect Maurice

49
 — Nicole Chevalier —

Pillet, when at dusk he discovered the tell of the Acropolis, is significant: “I felt as if
we walked along high cliffs, or better, high walls [. . .] I was surprised that Susa had
retained such imposing remains of its enclosures [. . .] but great was my disappoint-
ment, when the next day I realized that these superb ramparts were none other than
the fronts of attack and clearings of the site, thus during the night I had taken their
vertical and regular faces as city walls” [Figure 3.4] (Chevalier 2009b: 258–259).
The method was radical; but still Morgan never questioned it, even after visiting in
1899 the start of the excavation of Babylon by the Germans and admiring the conduct
of their work (Morgan 1902a: 138). Morgan taught his method to his assistants, espe-
cially to Mecquenem, who, having arrived at Susa in 1903, put it into practice until the
Second World War. Thus Morgan and his collaborators were never able to distinguish
and hence reveal the remains of an architecture essentially of mud brick. The conse-
quence was poorly classified and badly interpreted documentation, removing part of the
scientific value of the work of the Délégation, though quickly made available to scholars
through the publication of the Mémoires. Nevertheless, the importance of the discover-
ies, as “artistic” as they were epigraphic, allowed the Délégation to rapidly bring Elamite
civilisation out of oblivion. Five years after the work began, Morgan gave a first look at
“The history of Elam” in Revue archéologique (Morgan 1902b: 149–171).
From the beginning of the excavation of trenches 7, 7α and 15 – under the Par-
thian and Achaemenid remains and near the ruins of floors and walls “too dev-
astated and too dispersed to give any coherent plan”  – was found an exceptional
collection of royal monuments, according to some coming from Mesopotamian cit-
ies, which had been carried away as booty to Susa by Middle Elamite sovereigns,
notably Shutruk-­Nahhunte.5 In turn were discovered: the obelisk of Manishtusu, the

Figure 3.4 The Acropole and the “Château” of Susa in 1913

(photograph by Maurice Pillet; courtesy of photographic archives of the
Département des Antiquités orientales, Musée du Louvre).

50
 — France and Elam —

stele of Naram-­Sin from the Akkadian period, the Kassite kudurrus; later, during
the 1901–1902 campaign, the Code of Hammurabi. The Acropole excavations also
helped to reveal many objects that were among the most remarkable of the Elamite
civilization; in particular, from the first campaign, a bronze altar, then the relief of
the lady spinning, the bronze of the seven warrior gods and fragments of the stele of
Untash-­Napirisha. In 1903 the statue of Queen Napir-­Asu [Figure 3.5] and in 1905
the Sit Shamshi were discovered inside and near the temple of Ninhursag, excavated

Figure 3.5  The statue of Queen Napir-­Asu in the “Château”

of Susa, January 1903 (courtesy of photographic archives of the
Département des Antiquités orientales, Musée du Louvre).

51
 — Nicole Chevalier —

along with the Inshushinak temple under which was found in 1904 a collection of
very diverse valuable objects described as “foundation offerings”. Five years after the
start of the excavations the most important discoveries of the Délégation were pre-
sented to the public at the Grand Palais des Champs-­Elysées in 1902 and the Louvre
in 1905 (Morgan 1902a; Morgan 1905).6
The excavations were conducted starting from the summit of the Acropole in order
to remove the entire surface. However, anxious to reach the remains of the origins
of the site quickly, Morgan led the excavations deeper into the “Grande tranchée”.
Thus in 1901 were discovered documents that were written in an archaic script called
“Proto-­Elamite”. Then, after bypassing a sterile mass of earth whose nature was not
elucidated until much later, in 1906–1907 virgin soil was reached, revealing a large
prehistoric cemetery which contained particularly fine painted ceramics and various
copper objects, which implied a more recent date than that expected by Morgan.
Alongside the Susa excavations, the Délégation conducted surveys in several
regions. In the Elamite domain, in his first summer trip in the Bakhtiari mountains,
Morgan resumed the program of taking impressions of reliefs and inscriptions that
he had started in 1890. Thus, from October 8–14, 1898, he drew and Jéquier took
impressions of the Elamite reliefs and inscriptions of Malamir. Known to early travel-
lers (Vanden Berghe 1963: 22–23), these reliefs had already attracted Dieulafoy’s
interest. In 1885 he had sent Houssaye and Babin to photograph them (M. Dieulafoy
1885b: 225–227, Pl. XXIV; 1890: 33). In 1901 the Délégation proposed a compre-
hensive review of the reliefs and study of the inscriptions by Scheil, which would
long remain the main source of knowledge about these reliefs (Mémoires II 1901:
102–132, 133–143). Finally, in 1902–1903 J.-E. Gautier, independently, but under
the aegis of the Délégation, carried out a mission in the Deh Luran plain northwest
of Susa. In the tepes of Mussian, Ali-­abad and Khazineh were discovered a collection
of archaic painted shards (Mémoires VIII, 1905: 59–148).
The concentration of efforts at Susa, caused in part by the priority given by Mor-
gan to Elamite studies, added fuel to the criticism concerning the overly limited scope
of the Délégation. Although Susa was at the origin of diplomatic action of France, the
extent of the monopoly meant having to diversify the investigations. In 1908, recog-
nizing the importance of the results, the Légation de France, keen to defend an agree-
ment increasingly considered controversial by the Persians and foreign scholars who
felt they were being ousted, was alarmed by these attacks and denounced the lack
of research outside Susiana. Thus Morgan, criticised for his scientific choices, which
he justified by the importance of the excavated site, and with insufficient financial
resources to allow the expansion of research to other regions without undermining
Susa; challenged by some of his collaborators; suspected of irregularities in his finan-
cial management; disappointed, perhaps, by an excavation that had become too rou-
tine and that he had entrusted from 1908 to Mecquenem; but, above all, exhausted
and ill, gave in his resignation on October 12, 1897.

T H E MI SSI O N ARCHÉ OL OG IQUE D E SUSIAN E

(1 9 1 2 –19 4 6 )
On November  21, 1912, a month and a half after the resignation of Morgan,
the Délégation was officially dissolved. From then on, it was in Paris, within the

52
 — France and Elam —

Commission consultative des fouilles en Perse, created in 1908, that decisions were
made on the direction of research. Immediately, the Commission reckoned that inde-
pendent missions would give better results. Thus, Henri Viollet’s project on the study
of Islamic monuments was authorized, and Charles Fossey was charged with a mis-
sion to Hamadan and Rey. Research work at Susa, although financially restricted,
was not called into question. In this context, Scheil and Mecquenem were jointly
appointed to lead the Mission archéologique de Susiane; Scheil in Paris as scientific
director – a position he held until his death in 1940 – and Mecquenem at Susa as
director of excavations until 1946.
From now on, the Susa team was smaller; Maurice Pézard departed but made a
significant contribution to the Susa excavations by publishing in 1913 with Edmond
Pottier, curator at the Louvre, the catalogue of Susiana Antiquities discovered by the
Morgan mission (Pézard and Pottier 1913/1926). The same year he obtained permis-
sion to excavate at Bandar-­Bushehr, ancient Liyan, which he briefly explored with
his brother Georges. The results were modest – mainly Middle Elamite bricks and
painted ceramics of the “1st and 2nd styles” – but nevertheless published (Mémoires
XV 1914). On March  24, 1914, Mecquenem ceased his work: he had to wait six
years before returning to Susa for a brief inspection of the site, occupied since 1916
by British troops.
When Mecquenem returned to Susiana in spring 1920, the archaeological situation
of France in Iran was in a period of change.7 Contested before the war, the monopoly
was becoming difficult to defend and a long negotiation started with Iran. Finally, on
October 18, 1927, France renounced the monopoly. In return, the post of Direction
générale des antiquités, bibliothèque et musée was assigned to someone from France.
Regarding the sharing of objects, the Susa mission would now become subject to new
regulations. André Godard, Director of Antiquities from 1928 to 1960, had the task,
among others, of establishing these regulations [Figure 3.6] (3 November 1930).
In 1921, the Acropole being virtually inaccessible until the destruction of the bar-
racks housing a squadron of Sepoys, the excavations were actively pushed over to
the tell of the Apadana [Figure  3.7]8 Until 1926, Mecquenem conducted his work
principally in two directions: the completion of the uncovering of the Achaemenid
palace  – for him, this objective was achieved in 1922  – and the identification of
underlying Elamite remains  – already begun in the east in 1912  – and which he
continued under the pavement of the courtyards. Thus he discovered a set of graves,
arranged under the floor of houses, identified by him as an “Elamite necropolis” and
the remains of a temple with its moulded brick decoration of the second half of the
2nd millennium. Then from 1927, next to the Acropole, which was still being exca-
vated but less intensively than before the war, efforts were focused on the southwest
of the Ville Royale – where in the tombs were found large clay heads of the Middle
Elamite period – and in the Donjon. Finally, Mecquenem broadened the scope of the
mission by carrying out in the 1930s a series of surveys on various prehistoric sites
of Susiana: notably with Louis Le Breton. Above all, he helped to broaden the field
of Elamite studies by carrying out, from 1935, surveys about 40 kilometres southeast
of Susa at the site of Chogha-­Zanbil, discovered by geologists of the Anglo-­Iranian
Oil Company after they flew over it in an aeroplane. With Jean Michalon, architect,
he thus revealed ancient Dur-­Untash: an ephemeral city built by Untash Napirisha
(Mémoires XXXIII 1953).

53
 Figure 3.6  Yedda and André Godard and Roland de Mecquenem at Susa around 1930
(courtesy of photographic archives of the Département
des Antiquités orientales, Musée du Louvre).

Figure 3.7  Family tomb of the Neo-­Elamite period. Excavations to the east of the
Achaemenid palace (Susa 1924; courtesy of photographic archives of the Département des
Antiquités orientales, Musée du Louvre).
 — France and Elam —

FRAN CE AND ELAM AF TER THE S E CO ND WO RL D

WAR: ROMAN GHIRSHM AN (1 9 4 6 – 1 9 6 7 ) AND
JEAN PERROT (1 9 6 7 – 1 9 7 9 )
The cessation of work caused by the war coincided with changes in the direction
of the excavations at Susa. First of all, after the death of Father Scheil (in 1940),
Georges Contenau, curator of Department of Oriental Antiquities at the Louvre, suc-
ceeded him as Scientific Director (1940–1957). Furthermore, on October 13, 1945,
Roman Ghirshman was appointed by the Foreign Ministry’s excavation commission
to replace Mecquenem, who would now focus on his publications [Figure 3.8]. In

Figure 3.8  Roman Ghirshman in front of the inscription commemorating

the arrival of Jacques de Morgan 70 years earlier, Susa 1967 (courtesy of
Agnès Spycket).

55
 — Nicole Chevalier —

early 1946, Mecquenem went to Susa to perform final checks and hand over his
powers to his successor.
When Ghirshman (1895–1979) became head of the excavations, he was already an
archaeologist with much experience working at multiple sites, having made his debut
at Tello, in Mesopotamia (1930–1931). During the war, he headed the Délégation
archéologique française en Afghanistan (1941–1943). Before that, he had devoted
himself to Iran, where he excavated at Tepe Giyan (1931 and 1932) – in collaboration
with Contenau – and at Tepe Sialk (1933, 1934 and 1937). Before the war he also
explored Bishapur (1935–1936 and 1938–1941). However, he had never worked at
Susa. In the 20 years during which he led the Délégation archéologique en Iran, he
continued to work at Susa and undertook a complete exploration of Chogha-­Zanbil.
On December 4, 1946, resuming work at Susa, Ghirshman attempted to bring some
order into the exploration of the site by applying a method, infinitely more reliable,
inaugurated at Tepe Giyan and Tepe Sialk. Although personally interested in the most
recent periods of the site9 – which explains his work in the Village perse-­achéménide,
the Ville des Artisans and in the north of the Ville Royale, mostly untouched by his
predecessors – Ghirshman nonetheless also greatly contributed to bringing to light to
the earliest periods of the history of Susa.10
Even if from the first campaigns various operations took place in the Apadana,
they remained limited compared to those undertaken in other parts of the site, includ-
ing the north of the Ville Royale with the important stratigraphic project, Chantier A,
opened from the month of December 1946, which allowed 15 levels to be identified
before reaching the virgin soil. It was only in the last six years of his leadership that
the oldest levels of Susa were explored: in the Ville Royale Chantier A, he uncov-
ered several levels from the time of the sukkalmahs, then little known (VRA XII
to XV), which allowed the recognition of large residences of royal dignitaries. This
stratigraphic sequence was continued further south in Chantier B, uncovering three
earlier levels, and in the Acropole, where under his leadership Marie-­Joseph Steve
and Hermann Gasche explored the remains of the 3rd and 4th millennia untouched
by Morgan and Mecquenem. Thus the existence of the Haute Terrasse, artificially
constructed at the beginning of the 4th millennium, was identified.
In undertaking work at Chogha-­Zanbil, Ghirshman uncovered an ensemble of
predominantly religious structures. During the nine campaigns (1951–1962), the fol-
lowing were uncovered: the ziggurat, dedicated to the gods Inshushinak and Napir-
isha; the courts; several shrines with important material; and a royal quarter with
one of the palaces housing the royal tombs and many inscriptions. A large Elamite
architectural complex was finally revealed (Mémoires XXXIX I 1966; II 1968).
On April 10, 1967, Ghirshman, who had been “for half a century the great master
of French archaeology in Iran” (Will 1981: 212), completed his 21st and last cam-
paign of excavations at Susa, passing the baton to Jean Perrot [Figure 3.9]. Seventy
years earlier, Morgan had arrived at Susa at the head of the Délégation scientifique
francaise en Perse: Ghirshman did not fail to commemorate the anniversary.
In 1967, Jean Perrot (1920–2012), a specialist in the late prehistory of the Near
East, took over from Ghirshman as the head of the Délégation archéologique française
en Iran et de la mission de Suse. At that time, he had already had a distinguished
career. Indeed, after prior training in Paris, he left to study at the Ecole biblique
et archéologique française de Jérusalem. He met René Neuville, Consul General of

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 — France and Elam —

Figure 3.9  Jean Perrot and Pierre Amiet in the “Château” of Susa, 1977
(courtesy of Pierre Amiet).

France and a prehistorian, whose influence was decisive, and in 1952 Perrot founded
the Mission archéologique française à Jérusalem.
Until 1979, Perrot led a large team consisting of archaeologists and environmental
specialists from several countries, including Iranian trainees delegated by the Iranian
Centre for Archaeological Research, led by Firouz Bagherzadeh.11 His objective was
to establish the archaeological sequence of Susiana and Susa from the first villages to
medieval times. Work on each period and the publication of results were placed under
the responsibility of several archaeologists. For the Elamite period, on the south side
of the Acropole, stratigraphic control operations were led by Alain Le Brun and
Henry Wright, who concentrated their research on the 4th millennium, as well as
Denis Canal, for the High Terrace. Elizabeth Carter worked in the Ville Royale I on
the period covering approximately the 2nd millennium, and Pierre de Miroschedji
worked in the Ville Royale II for the 1st millennium to clarify the stratigraphy of the

57
 — Nicole Chevalier —

Middle and Neo-­Elamite periods. The epigraphic documentation was entrusted to

François Vallat.
Finally, as was the case with the first excavations of the Délégation led by Mor-
gan, Jean Perrot appeared very anxious to publish early the results of his mission.
While in the collection of Mémoires the publication of previous findings was not yet
complete, the results of the Perrot Mission appear from 1971 in Cahiers de la Délé-
gation archéologiques en Iran (Cahiers de la DAFI). Fifteen volumes of reports were
published. Similarly, papers from the two international “Rencontres” in 1977  – at
Susa – and in 1985 were published in the journal Paléorient 4, 1978 and 11/2, 1985
and translated into Persian.

ELAM AT THE L O U VRE

In his “Bilan archéologique de la Délégation en Perse”, which gave a synthesis of the
archaeological activity of Jacques de Morgan, P. Amiet concluded that “they had in
fact garnered much; it was premature to coordinate epigraphic and archaeological
documentation into an overall history of a very complex civilization. This history
depended too much on the history of Mesopotamia to be already mastered” (Amiet
1997a: 107).
Indeed, it was not until the period after the Second World War and Louis Le
Breton that French researchers began a first reflection on the huge stockpile of
objects at the Louvre. Mecquenem’s collaborator at Susa (1933–1935), researcher
and Chargé de mission at the Department of Oriental Antiquities (1948), Le Breton
classified and catalogued thousands of objects from Susa in the Louvre storage
rooms. In particular, he took on the large task of organising the Susa ceramics and
tried to reconstruct the complex evolution of the primitive civilization of Susiana.
Thus, in 1947, after his Ecole du Louvre thesis on “La céramique peinte de Suse
II” and having published his “Notes sur la céramique peinte aux environs de Suse
et à Suse” (Mémoires XXX 1947: 120–219) in the year of his death, a remarkable
synthesis of his research and findings appeared posthumously (Le Breton 1957:
79–124). In many respects, Pierre Amiet, curator at the Department of Oriental
Antiquities, resumed the task initiated by Le Breton. Formerly a student of the
École Biblique et Archéologique française de Jérusalem, Amiet, who had known
Mecquenem and benefited at the Louvre from Contenau’s last courses, became rap-
idly interested in the Iranian world, to which he devoted many articles and several
reference books. Thus, less than ten years after the disappearance of Le Breton, to
whom he had dedicated his first article on Iran and Susian archaic glyptic, Amiet
presented a first synthesis of Elam. Knowing perfectly the Susian antiquities from
the excavations of Morgan and Mecquenem, preserved not only at the Louvre but
also in Tehran, and the recent discoveries made by Ghirshman, he published Elam in
1966. In this synthesis, he considered all of the excavated material and proposed a
classification system; as Parrot underlined, he successfully classified “a considerable
documentation into a coherent chronological framework, and this in the absence
of any architectural context”. It was only a first step. Twenty years later, in Suse,
6000 ans d’histoire, Amiet recognised that this classification had become outdated:
on the one hand “subsequent discoveries have often allowed for corrections to be
made”; on the other, while he had devoted himself “to highlight Susian originality

58
 — France and Elam —

by using a terminology distinct from that of Mesopotamia”, while examining on

site the results of the most recent work in 1977, he “discovered the alternating
dependence and independence of Susiana in relation to Mesopotamia, highlighting
alternating references to the latter and Elam itself” (Amiet 1988: 11).
In 1978, after more than 90 years of research, the French excavations at Susa were
terminated. There remained the important task of publishing the excavations and the
study of the collections that had built up in the storage rooms of the Louvre until
1968, when the Délégation archéologique française en Iran proposed to the Iranian
Minister of Culture the abandonment of the sharing of excavated objects.

AB B REVIATIO NS
MÉMOIRES Most of the results of the scientific work of the Délégation scientifique
française en Perse and its successors were gathered in a collection of
volumes inaugurated by Jacques de Morgan successively entitled:
Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse, volumes I to XIII, 1900–1912.
Mémoires de la Mission archéologique de Susiane, volume XIV, 1913.
Mémoires de la Mission archéologiques de Perse – Mission à Bender-­
Bouchir, volume XV, 1914.
Mémoires de la Mission archéologiques de Perse – Mission de Susiane,
volumes XVI to XXVIII, 1921–1939.
Mémoires de la Mission archéologiques en Iran – Mission de Susiane,
volumes XXIX to XXXVIII.
Mémoires de la Délégation archéologiques en Iran  – Mission de
Susiane, volumes XXXIX to LII, 1966–1992.

NOTE S
* Translated from French by Javier Álvarez-Mon and Yasmina Wicks.
1 Including Colonel John Macdonald Kinneir and Major Monteith (1809), Robert Gordon,
a member of the William Gore Ouseley embassy (1811), Sir Robert Ker Porter (between
1817 and 1820), Henry Creswicke Rawlinson (1836), Austen Henry Layard (1840) and
Baron de Bode (1841).
2 On the diplomatic and institutional context until 1914, see Chevalier 2002: 118–203;
2010. See also Nasiri-­Moghaddam 2004.
3 It was not until 1954 that a new topographic map was made by A. Jullien and Ghirshman.
4 For simplicity, to designate the different areas of the site, we use traditional appellations:
to the west the Acropole; to the north, the Apadana; to the east, the Ville Royale and in
the south the Donjon; finally, beyond, further north, the Ville des Artisans.
5 See Mecquenem and Amiet 1980: 6–23. A  summary of the findings of the Délégation
accompanied by the bibliography was given in Amiet 1997a: 94–109. See Martinez-­Sève
1997: 18–29 and Gasche, Steve and Vallat 2003: 392–394.
6 On the site of the major discoveries in the Acropole, see the plan of Suzanne Heim and
Françoise Tallon in: Harper, Aruz and Tallon 1992: 124, Figure 41.
7 On the diplomatic and institutional context until 1939: Chevalier 2002: 323–347.
8 On the work of this period, see Mecquenem and Amiet 1980: 23–48; Amiet 1997a:
162–167; Martinez-­Sève 1997: 28–68; Gasche, Steve and Vallat 2003: 394–395; Roland
de Mecquenem. Susa Archives (1912–1939), online. For a complete bibliography on the

59
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excavations at Susa and the surrounding area, see Steve, Gasche and De Meyer 1980:
107–116.
9 His interest in the Parthian, Sassanid and Hellenistic periods led him to excavate Ivan-­e
Kerkha, (1950), from 1964, Bard-­e Néchandeh and Masjid-­i Suleiman, where he worked
until 1972. He also uncovered a Christian monastery at Kharg Island (1959–1960).
0 Previously, Mecquenem had conducted a series of limited operations in the Ville des
1
Artisans under the direction of Jamshid M. Unvala. On the Ghirshman excavations, see
Steve, Gasche and Meyer 1980. In the appendix, a summary is given for each campaign,
with the active sites and excavated levels; Gasche 1997; Gasche, Steve and Vallat 2003:
396–398.
11 For an overview of the works of the Perrot mission, see Perrot 1997; Gasche, Steve and
Vallat 2003: 398–403 (specifically the location of major projects launched by Ghirshman
and Perrot: pp. 399–400).

B IB LIOGRAP HY
For the Roland de Mecquenem Archives, see: N. Daucé, 2011. Roland de Mecquenem Archives
de Suse. Rapports de la Mission (1912–1939). Cote conservation: F/17/17256/Document
original conservé aux Archives Nationales, Paris. www.mom.fr/mecquenem/.
Amiet, P. 1966. Elam. Auvers-sur-Oise: Archée.
———. 1988. Suse 6000 ans d’histoire. Paris: RMN.
———. 1997a. Bilan archéologique de la Délégation en Perse. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une mis-
sion en Perse 1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 94–109.
———. 1997b. La période Roland de Mecquenem (1912–1946). In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une
mission en Perse 1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 162–187.
André-­Salvini, B. 1997. “Ici commence l’histoire de l’Elam”. L’œuvre du père Jean-­Vincent
Scheil. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une mission en Perse 1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 94–109.
———. 2003. Le code de Hammurabi. Collection Solo. Paris: Musée du Louvre édition-­
RMN.
Chevalier, N. 2002. La recherche archéologique française au Moyen-­Orient 1842–1947, Cen-
tre de Recherche d’Archéologie Orientale, Université de Paris I: 14. Paris: ERC.
———. 2009a. Le voyage en Perse de Jacques de Morgan (1889–1891). In: Djindjian, F., Lorre,
C. and Touret, L. (ed.) Caucase, Egypte et Perse: Jacques de Morgan (1857–1924) pionnier
de l’aventure archéologique. Cahier du Musée d’Archéologie Nationale 1, 89–101.
———. 2009b. Chronique des premières missions archéologiques françaises à Suse d’après
les photographies et mémoires de l’architecte Maurice Pillet (1912–1913). Téhéran: IFRI –
Paris: Musée du Louvre.
———. 2010. Les découvreurs du palais de Suse. In: Perrot, J. (ed.) Le palais de Darius à Suse.
Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone, Paris: PUPS, 74–115. London-­
New York: I.B. Tauris & Co Ltd: 2013, 53–91.
Chevalier, N. (ed.) 1997. Une Mission en Perse, 1897–1912. Paris: RMN.
Curtis, J. 1993. William Kennet Loftus and His Excavations at Susa. Iranica Antiqua 28: 1–55.
———. 1997. Les fouilles de W. K. Loftus à Suse. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une mission en Perse
1897–1912. Paris: RMN: 36–45.
Dieulafoy, J. 1887. La Perse, la Chaldée, la Susiane. Paris: Librairie Hachette.
———. 1888. A Suse. Journal de fouilles. Paris: Librairie Hachette.
Dieulafoy, M. 1885a. Fouilles de Suse. Campagne de 1884–1885. Rapport de l’ingénieur en
chef des Ponts et Chaussées directeur. Revue Archéologique: troisième Série 6: 48–69.
———. 1885b. Mission de Susiane. Note relative à la découverte sur le tombeau de Darius de
sept inscriptions nouvelles. Revue Archéologique: troisième Série 6: 224–227.

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———. 1890. L’Acropole de Suse d’après les fouilles exécutées en 1884, 1885, 1886 sous les
auspices du musée du Louvre, Première partie histoire et géographie. Paris: Hachette.
———. 1893. L’Acropole de Suse d’après les fouilles exécutées en 1884, 1885, 1886 sous les
auspices du musée du Louvre, ouvrage contenant 386 gravures insérées dans le texte. Paris:
Hachette.
———. 1913. Les Antiquités de Suse découvertes et rapportées par la mission Dieulafoy
(1884–1886). Musée du Louvre. Paris: Ernest Leroux.
Gasche, H. 1997. La période Roman Ghirshman (1946–1967). In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une
mission en Perse 1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 168–179.
Gasche, H., Steve, M.J. and Vallat, F. 2003. Suse. Supplément au Dictionnaire de la Bible
73–74: 360–652.
Harper P.O., Aruz, J. and Tallon, F. (ed.) 1992. The Royal City of Susa, New York, Metropoli-
tan Museum of Art, édition française par Caubet A. Paris: RMN, 1994.
Jéquier, G. 1968. Jéquier. En Perse. 1897–1902. Journal et lettres de Gustage Jéquier, publiés et
annoté par Michel Jéquier. Neuchâtel: Editions de la Baconnière.
Lagrange, père M.-J. 1913. Les fouilles de Suse d’après les travaux de la Délégation en Perse.
Revue biblique 126–150.
Le Breton, L. 1957. The Early Periods at Susa, Mesopotamian Relations. Iraq 19: 79–124.
Loftus, W.K. 1857. Travels and Researches in Chaldaea and Susiana. London: J. Nisbet
and Co.
Martinez-­Sève, L-A. 1997. Les figurines hellénisantes de Suse, contribution à l’histoire cul-
turelle de Suse aux époques hellénistique et parthe. PhD Diss., Université de Paris I: I.
Mecquenem de, R. and Amiet, P. 1980. Les fouilleurs de Suse. Iranica Antiqua 15: 1–48.
Ménant, J. 1874. Annales des rois d’Assyrie, traduites et mises en ordre sur le texte assyrien.
Paris: Maisonneuve.
Morgan de, J. 1895. Mission scientifique en Perse. Cartes des rives méridionales de la mer
Caspienne, du Kurdistan de Moukhri et de l’Elam. Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1896. Mission scientifique en Perse. Recherches archéologiques, IV, 1re partie. In: Mis-
sion scientifique en Perse, I–IV, 1894–1905. Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1902a. La Délégation en Perse du Ministère de l’Instruction Publique, 1897 à 1902.
Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1902b. L’histoire de l’Elam d’après les matériaux fournis par les fouilles à Suse de 1897
à 1902. Revue archéologique 40: 140–171.
———. 1905. Histoire et travaux de la Délégation en Perse du Ministère de l’Instruction Pub-
lique, 1897 à 1905. Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1997. Mémoires de Jacques de Morgan. Souvenirs d’un archéologue, Jaunay A. (ed.).
Paris: L’Harmattan.
Mousavi, A. 1996. Early Archaeological Adventures and Methodological Problems in Iranian
Archaeology: The Evidence from Susa. Iranica Antiqua 31: 1–17.
Nasiri-­Moghaddam, N. 2004. L’archéologie française en Perse et les antiquités nationales
(1884–1914). Paris: Connaissances et savoirs.
Oppert, J. 1876. Les inscriptions en langue susienne. Essai d’interprétation, Mémoires du Con-
grès International des Orientalistes. Compte-­Rendu de la Première Session – Paris – 1873.
Paris, 179–216.
Parrot, A. 1946–1953 Archéologie mésopotamienne. I. Les étapes. II. Technique et problèmes.
Paris.
Perrot, G. and Chipiez, C. 1882–1914. Histoire de l’art dans l’antiquité. Egypte, Assyrie, Phéni-
cie, Judée, Asie Mineure, Perse, Grèce. 10 vols. Paris: Hachette.
Perrot, J. 1997. Les recherches de 1968 à 1979. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une mission en Perse
1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 180–192.

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Pézard, M. and Pottier, E. 1913/1926. Catalogue des Antiquités de Susiane au musée du Louvre
(Mission J. de Morgan). Paris: Musées nationaux.
Scheil, V. 1937. Les fouilles et l’histoire de la Babylonie, de l’Assyrie et de l’Elam, Conférence
faite le 8 mars 1911 au Comité de l’Asie Française. In: Au service de Clio. Chalon-­sur-­
Saône, 15–50.
Spycket, A. 1997. Les collaborateurs de Jacques de Morgan. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une mission
en Perse 1897–1912. Paris: RMN, 126–131.
Steve, M.-J., Gasche, H. and De Meyer, L. 1980. La Susiane au IIe millénaire: à propos d’une
interprétation des fouilles de Suse. Iranica Antiqua 15: 49–154.
Vanden Berghe, L. 1963. Les reliefs élamites de Mālāmir. Iranica Antiqua 10: 22–39.
Will, E. 1981. Nécrologie: Roman Ghirshman (1895–1979). Syria 58: 212–214.

62
 CHAPTER FOUR

BETWEEN ORIENTALISM AND

PERSOMANIA
The presentation of the Iranian
collections at the Louvre

Marianne Cotty*

INTRODU CTIO N
The Départment des Antiquités Orientales of the Louvre was created in 1881 after
the discoveries made on the Mesopotamian site of Tello. Detached from the main
Department des Antiques, it gathered the non-­classical antiquities of the Louvre,
namely, the Musée Assyrien, that is to say, the collections brought from Khorsabad
by the French consul P.-E. Botta and V. Place, the Antiquités Asiatiques, the Musée
Judaïque and the Cypriot collections. Persia, for a long time at the margin of West-
ern research due to the difficulty of traveling there, became from 1884 the preferred
field for French scholars. Excavations at Susa were initiated by Marcel and Jane
Dieulafoy, followed by members of the Délégation en Perse. The Louvre, the great
beneficiary of the discoveries, enriched its collections by about 50,000 objects over
the years, shipment by shipment. The museographic presentation changed several
times between the late 19th and the end of the 2nd World War, considering the new
discoveries and adapting to the diversity of the finds: from the extensive typology
of utilitarian objects to the exceptional masterpieces, all would find their place in
the museum galleries. These rearrangements and adjustments undertaken by curators
and archaeologists were always guided by the will to promote the study and reveal
the monuments of ancient Persia to all the publics. The various “educational” media,
such as painting, photography, models and maps used to magnify and explain the col-
lections constitute fundamental sources for the knowledge of the history of research
and taste in 19th and early 20th century France.

THE DISCOVE RE RS
Marcel and Jane Dieulafoy
The history of Susa extends over thousands of years, but its toponyms have not sig-
nificantly varied until today. Thus, the first discoverers easily recognized Shush as the
modern name of the city of the Persian kings mentioned in the great biblical histor-
ical books, in Genesis and in the works of classical authors. From the 19th century,
Persia was visited by many travelers: Kinneir (1808–1810), Ker Porter (1817–1820)

63
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and Rawlinson (1836) paved the way (Chevalier 1997). Charles Texier also travelled
the country in 1838, but it was the Flandin and Coste mission in 1839–1840 that
would mark the real beginnings of the French explorations in Persia and consti-
tute a turning point in Orientalism. Their publication of Voyage en Perse, six richly
illustrated volumes, was a huge success and is still today an important source for
the Persia of the 19th century (Flandin and Coste 1843–1851). Nevertheless, these
French pioneers did not visit Susa. The first English explorers who travelled to Susa
agreed that the Susa monuments held little interest. Layard asserted even in 1841:
“I visited Susan, Rawlinson believes that this is the Shusan of the holy scriptures, as
well as the grave of Daniel, but the ruins are insignificant (. . .) there is no indication
of the presence of a great city” (Boré 1842: 334–335; in Chevalier 2010: 74). British
William Kennett Loftus would demonstrate the contrary ten years later, followed by
the Dieulafoys, the pioneers of the long tradition of French archaeologists at Susa
(Curtis 1997).
In 1884, when Marcel Dieulafoy undertook excavations at Susa, almost no Persian
site had been excavated. Thanks to the funding of 30,000 francs from the Direction
des Musées Nationaux, they organized two campaigns (1884 to 1886). From the first
campaign, the results were sensational; they discovered bricks belonging to the frieze
of lions and frieze of archers and the two-­headed capitals and elements of decoration
from a ceremonial staircase. That year, 327 cases of architectural elements and bricks
were shipped to France aboard the Sané. The bricks were reconstructed and restored
in the workshops of the Louvre and Sèvres and would form the core of the Louvre’s
Susian collections.
The main ambition of Marcel Dieulafoy was to demonstrate the Iranian origin of
the vault. His theories on the links between Eastern and Western medieval art pub-
lished in L’Art antique de la Perse (1885) and L’Acropole de Suse (1893) triggered
more than one objection. Nevertheless, his ideas caused such a sensation in the sci-
entific world that in 1895 he was elected to the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-­
Lettres. France, wishing to continue its research in Persia and proud of its success
in Susa, decided to create a Délégation Scientifique en Perse, and it was Jacques de
Morgan, appointed Deputy Chief of the excavations in Persia in 1897, who would
resume work at the end of that year.1

The Délégation Scientifique en Perse

J. de Morgan, mining engineer and archaeologist extraordinaire, wanted to discover
the history of Persia before the Persians. Indeed, the Dieulafoys had only touched
the recent layers and the Elamite levels were still unknown. Morgan devoted no
less than 15 years to the Délégation en Perse (1897–1912) and made Susa the most
important and the most perennial of European excavations in the Middle East. This
indefatigable excavator contributed not only to the expansion of the collections of
the Louvre but also those of the Museum d’Histoire Naturelle and of the Musée
de Saint-­Germain-­en-­Laye. His favoured area was the Acropole of Susa, where he
dug trenches five meters wide to reach the earliest levels. He equipped himself with
wagons of 300 litres and several kilometres of rails, and hired more than a thousand
workers, which allowed him to significantly increase the monthly volume of exploita-
tion. The excavation methods of Jacques de Morgan and his lack of knowledge of

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stratigraphy led to great confusion between the different excavated levels and the
mixing of artifacts covering very broad periods (Morgan 1906).
From the first campaigns, all attention was on the discoveries of Mesopotamian
monuments like the stele of Naram-­Sin, the obelisk of Manishtushu (MDP I: 104, Fig-
ure 167 and MDP XIII: 72), the stele of the Code of Hammurabi (MDP VII: 28–29,
Pl. V and MDP IV: 11–162), and finally, among these remarkable finds appeared the
first evidence of the Elamite civilization!2 The excavation of the massif funéraire pro-
vided the first prehistoric artifacts such as the Susa I ceramics and the first evidence of
metallurgy. These painted vases were a complete novelty at the beginning of the 20th
century, as nothing so old had been discovered in Mesopotamia.3
Morgan surrounded himself with many collaborators. Gustave Jéquier, an archae-
ologist and linguist Morgan had met in Egypt, and Georges Lampre, general secretary
of the Délégation, would be the chevilles ouvrières of the mission. They would be
joined in 1898 by father Vincent Scheil, a prominent Assyriologist, then by Roland de
Mecquenem from 1903. The latter, a mining engineer like Morgan, became his main
collaborator and perpetuated the “excavation methods” of his master. He would be
officially responsible for the management of excavations in 1912. With Maurice Pil-
let, an architect and talented artist, he would continue the excavations of the Palace
of Darius initiated by his predecessors.4

THE MUSEOG RAP HY

Through these campaigns, the Iranian collections of the Louvre were increased sig-
nificantly. They provide, in parallel to those of Tello, the first large collections of
objects to emerge from archaeological excavations, and their presentation therefore
constituted a real challenge. The contents of the crates, which were inventoried in
retrospect,5 were rarely known by the curators of the Louvre, and yet they were
forced to quickly exhibit these works to the public!6 The museography, subject to
the inevitable servitude of the architecture of the Louvre and of the administration,
had to follow different “trends” in “the art of exhibition”. In the 19th and early 20th
century, the Louvre Museum welcomed its visitors in rooms decorated with rich wall
paintings and abundant artefacts displayed one after the other, sometimes with little
scientific consistency. This period was punctuated by many adjustments and rear-
rangements (see Figure 4.1).

The Dieulafoy rooms and the Exposition universelle

The Dieulafoy rooms were located in the north wing of the colonnade of Perrault
on the first floor above the Assyrian halls (Figure 4.1). The grande salle de Suse,
inaugurated in 1888, showed the remains brought by the Dieulafoys: the two bull
protome capitals, the frieze of lions, two panels of archers, a decorative element of
a ceremonial staircase and various antiquities: cylinders, glazed vessels, weapons,
lamps, marble bowls, statues of bronze or agate, and cuneiform texts.7 The inaugu-
ration of this room is known from the engravings of Peulot after Cox, published in
the Univers Illustré of 6 June 1888, and that of Tilly, which shows the capital framed
by a frieze of archers (Figure 4.2). We see there the model of the Susa tell created by
Dieulafoy taking pride of place at the centre of the room. Among the visitors, we see

65
 — Marianne Cotty —

Figure 4.1  Schematic layout of the Iranian rooms at the Louvre Museum
(copyright Musée du Louvre, Département des Antiquités Orientales).

Ernest Renan in the foreground to the right, and Marcel Dieulafoy in the background
indicating the capital to president Carnot. In the centre, Jane Dieulafoy and madame
Carnot are leaning over a showcase.
The grande salle de Suse (Figures 4.3 and 4.4) was furnished and decorated accord-
ing to the plans of Edmond Guillaume and the decorative paintings executed by Charles

66
 — Iranian collections at the Louvre —

Figure 4.2  Inauguration of the Dieulafoy collections. Engraving by

Gusman after Guilliod (L’Univers illustré, 6 June 1888).

Chauvin. The friezes and the ceiling of the grande salle are far from evoking Persian
Achaemenid art but rather recall the Art Nouveau style (Aulanier 1964: 135). While
some painted decorations of the Louvre evoked the works or the civilizations on display
in the rooms, the paintings of Chauvin were mainly intended to immerse the visitor in a
pleasant decorative environment (Bodenstein 2012: 182–183). The petite salle de Suse8
(Figure 4.5) located beyond the capital was decorated with a panorama of the region
of Susa by Philippe-­Marie-­Emile Chapron and Marcel Jambon, painters and decorators
for theatre and opera. The rest of the room had been decorated by Charles Lameire,
painter and decorator of religious buildings. Although incomplete, this room was nev-
ertheless inaugurated in March 1891. It was designed to accommodate the rest of the
objects of the mission of Susa, whose discoveries were increasing. One of the griffin
reliefs and a large model of the Apadana made by Dieulafoy were also exhibited there
(Dieulafoy 1893: 345, Pl. XIV). Testimony to the taste of the period for restoration of

67
 — Marianne Cotty —

Figure 4.3  Salle Dieulafoy in about 1910 (copyright Musée du Louvre,

Département des Antiquités Orientales).

antique monuments, this model, which includes some mistakes, was nevertheless a very
evocative restoration for the public (Tallon 1997: 55). The panorama of Chapron and
Jambon representing the alluvial plain of Susa allowed the recreation of the atmosphere
of the Dieulafoy excavations. On the other hand, the paintings of Lameire, like those
of Chauvin, evoked nothing of Persia: they were inspired rather by Assyrian motifs. In
the Sarzec room where the Sumerian objects were exhibited, Lameire also produced
another Assyrian decoration directly inspired by the discoveries of Khorsabad and by
the illustrations by Felix Thomas (Fontan 1994).

68
 Figure 4.4  Salle Dieulafoy, grande salle de Suse (copyright Musée du Louvre,
Département des Antiquités Orientales).

Figure 4.5  Salle Dieulafoy, petite salle de Suse in about 1947 (copyright Centre des
Monuments Nationaux).
 — Marianne Cotty —

As shown by the engravings of 1888 (see Figure 4.2), the opening of the Dieulafoy
rooms had an exceptional impact: “Everything was perfectly successful and two large
rooms on the first floor of the Louvre were installed; the Achaemenid capital, frieze
of lions, and frieze of archers were the ‘highlights’ ” (Mecquenem 1980: 3–4).9 During
his visit to the Dieulafoy rooms in 1900, M. Mozaffar ad-­Din Shah raved about the
enhancement of the glazed brick fragments that the governor of Dezful who came to
Susa before the departure of the Dieulafoy mission had not found worthy of collec-
tion (Mecquenem 1980: 12).
The inauguration of the Dieulafoy rooms and these important discoveries constitute
the foundational events of the reception of the Persian world in France. The opening
of the rooms in 1888 was followed by the Exposition Universelle in the Champs-­
de-­Mars in 1889, where a pavilion was dedicated to the “Missions Archéologiques,
ethnographiques, littéraires et scientifiques. A “Salle de la Perse” presented amongst
others the casts by the Dieulafoy mission in Susa, photographs and the small model
explaining the construction of the Apadana.10 After the end of the exhibition, this
model and the table that supported it were donated to the Louvre Museum and
exhibited in a recess of the Dieulafoy room (Figure 4.4, visible on the right).11 Unfor-
tunately, we have little information on the perception of this pavilion by the public.
However, even if little is said in the press from this time, the glazed brick panels were
a source of inspiration for the public and for artists. Indeed, from the presentation
of the polychrome brick panels in the Louvre, the ceramist Emile Müller and sculp-
tor Charles Louis Lesueur reproduced the frieze of lions and the archers in durable
materials for presentation at the Exposition Universelle.12 These artists also created a
series of vessels in the shape of Achaemenid bricks.
Even if visitors to the Dieulafoy rooms and the Exposition Universelle were very
numerous, it was mainly the wide dissemination of the images and stories of the
Dieulafoys that introduced Achaemenid Persia to the scientific world and the general
public. First published in the popular magazine Le tour du Monde, and considering
the public’s enthusiasm, the narratives and photographs of Jane Dieulafoy would be
collected in two large volumes La Perse, la Chaldée et la Susiane (Dieulafoy 1887a;
1887b). In 1888 she published her journal, where she records the excavations and
life on the site (Dieulafoy 1888a; 1888b). The Art antique de la Perse (1885) and the
Acropole de Suse (1893) by Marcel Dieulafoy are equally seminal works. They are
richly illustrated with photographs taken by Jane Dieulafoy, who produced many
picturesque views and panoramas but also used photography for scientific purposes
as a “veritable archaeological recording tool”. At the end of the 19th century, pho-
tography, which contrary to drawing or painting constituted an irrefutable testimony,
acquired the status of an auxiliary to archaeological work.13 For the first time in
Persia, photography scientifically documented the results of the excavations, the site
topography, the organization of field work and also architectural elements and arte-
facts discovered.

The Exhibition at the Grand Palais and the

Pavillon de la Tremoïlle
The monuments brought to light by the Dieulafoys marked the French spirit and
revealed Achaemenid Persian art, whose mysterious syncretism fascinated both the

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scholarly community and the general public. But it was the discoveries of Morgan,
seeking for the old Susa, which would announce the next resonance in the scientific
research and anchor the posterity of Elam.
His first shipment of Susa antiquities to the Louvre in 1901 included items
from the Elamite periods, previously unknown, and Mesopotamian monuments. It
appears that these first discoveries were exhibited in the room of the sarcophagus of
Eshmunazar and then the following year, in May 1902, in three rooms at the Grand
Palais of the Champs Élysées.14 The stele of Naram-­Sin, the obelisk of Manishtushu
and the Code of Hammurabi resided together with ceramics from Susa I, the sacri-
ficial bronze table, the jewellery from the Achaemenid burial, inscribed tablets and
bricks and so on. This exhibition was very well received. Jacques de Morgan was
pleased by the attendance: “[Y]esterday, the first public day, more than a thousand
people arrived. I  would never have believed that our demolition materials could
achieve such success. I  thought that only the learned would take interest. Some
few people, it is true, were embittered but the vast majority were sincerely happy”
(AMN, Morgan A4, Morgan to Héron de Villefosse; 1 May 1902).15 He was aware
of the historical importance of the documents exhibited and was somewhat vexed
when “a joker declared that we had only brought back bricks. The talk was not
fair . . . but had it been founded we would certainly not have complained, because
these modest bricks are none other than “the pages of the history of Elam”” (Mor-
gan 1905: 128).16 When the exhibition at the Grand Palais was over, the works were
brought back to the Louvre. But their presentation at the heart of the museum neces-
sitated a new premises, as there was no more space next to the Dieulafoy rooms
(Aulanier 1964: 138).
Henceforth, the only rooms available were on the banks of the Seine. Thus in
1902, Gaston Redon, architect of the Louvre, prepared a room on the ground floor of
the Pavillon de la Trémoïlle (Figure 4.1). The space was sufficiently large and satisfied
Morgan, but problems with the location and funding complicated the rearrangement
desired by the excavator. Indeed, he himself had to provide the funds for these works
from the budget of the delegation. He was reimbursed only three years later after
lengthy negotiations with the Louvre. Another event came to irritate the excavator
when in June 1904, after returning from the mission, he realized that a third of the
room had been taken up by a mastaba and other Egyptian artifacts. In his correspon-
dence with Leon Heuzey, director of Antiquitiés orientales, he complained about only
being able to install 11 showcases instead of the 21 that had been granted to him for
the Grand Palais in 1902: “The room will be absolutely crowded with socles and flat,
table showcases, the public will have great difficulty circulating” (AMN, Morgan A4,
Morgan to Heuzey, 7 December 1904).17 But against all odds, two years later, still
addressing Heuzey, he admits that it is not so inconvenient to mix these items because
“the Egyptians come from Chaldea . . . and for the jewellery, the public who only
rarely read the labels will believe that they come from Telloh; who cares! So long as
it honours our museum?” (AMN, Morgan A4, Morgan to Heuzey, 20 June 1906).18
Because of all these setbacks, the official inaugurations of this Salle de Morgan,
also called Nouvelle Salle de la Susiane, did not take place until 1908 (the 3rd of July
and 6 September). However, this presentation was very successful because “the large
panels with inscriptions and plaster castings made after rubbings, and the paintings
by G. Bondoux mitigated the severity of the inscribed bricks and the heavy Elamite

71
 — Marianne Cotty —

sculptures; the most remarkable pieces were the stele of Naramsin and the Code of
Hammurabi” (Mecquenem 1980: 18).19 The press, meanwhile, was passionate about
Elamite objects: “In the midst of coarse alabaster statues, decorative reliefs pierced at
the centre like an opening for suspension. In one, one sees two coiled serpents biting
their tail, primitive form of the caduceus (?) – the most interesting discovery consists
of two large painted urns that were filled with disparate objects, alabaster vases,
bronze tools such as axes, saws, points and even a strainer, and cylinder-­seals”.20
Morgan was driven by a pedagogical desire and wanted to explain to the visitor
how the excavations in the Near East took place. For the first time, the Iranian rooms
were decorated with a “map of the Chaldean-­Persian countries” realised by Jambon
and Bondoux and a dozen paintings by the latter painter attached to the mission.
Only two large arched canvases, Le tell de Suse avant les fouilles and Suse pendant
les fouilles, which fit in with the architecture of the room, were hung permanently.21
These two large-­scale, oil-­on-­canvas works were made in Paris in 1905. A  dozen
studies after nature, painted during his stays at Susa in 1902 and 1903, occupied the
interior window embrasures.22 Le tell de Suse avant les fouilles presents a wild and
romantic view of Susa, while Suse pendant les fouilles resurrects life on the site by
staging the workers in the heart of the trenches. Thus, Morgan brought the archae-
ological methods and techniques into the Louvre. The excavator wanted to restore
the atmosphere of Susa so that the visitor could be transported to the centre of the
landscape “because we had to give the visitor a vision of the country where the events
had occurred . . . no description can replace what the eyes capture in an instant . . .”
(Morgan 1909: 104–105).23 Even if Morgan largely used photography to document
the excavation and illustrate publications,24 he observed that it did not bring any
notion of the transparency of the air, the colour of the sites or the light that has so
much influence on the human spirit. It is because of this that he appealed to Bondoux,
who “possessed in his brush the light of the Orient” (Morgan 1905: 107).25 Unfortu-
nately, the Comité Consultatif and the Conseil des Musées opposed the exhibition of
the painted landscapes in the Susa gallery, and will remove the canvases and panels in
1906,26 against the advice of Morgan.27

New distributions to the Verne plan

Soon after the inauguration of the Salle de Morgan at the Pavillon de la Trémoïlle, the
Louvre received a new shipment of antiquities (Morgan 1909). While the wish was
to declutter the galleries to give more space to the objects, their number increased
constantly. It was for this reason that Eugène Ledrain, curator of the Antiquités Ori-
entales, decided to transfer the large-scale monuments of Susa, those most likely to
attract the general public, into the Assyrian gallery (Figure 4.1) renamed for the occa-
sion Salle de la Susiane, Mission Jacques de Morgan (Figure 4.6). Despite this new
room bearing his name, Morgan was in no way satisfied with this new arrangement
and deplored that “the Elamite would disappear amongst the Assyrian, Chaldean or
even the Achaemenid” and that this melange “blurs the vision of the Elamite world”
(Morgan 1905: 115).28 The antiquities of Susiana found themselves separated in two
distant spaces of the museum29 and Morgan again deplored “this fragmentation of
the Susa collection (. . .) is truly unfortunate, because the great value of the series is
nearly annihilated” (Jaunay 1997: 500).30 In a letter to Léon Heuzey, he regrets that

72
 — Iranian collections at the Louvre —

Figure 4.6  Salle de la Susiane. Mission J. de Morgan in the Assyrian gallery (1909)
(copyright Musée du Louvre, Département des Antiquités Orientales).

“the public will not be able to judge the whole [collections] but . . . we do not do
what we want” (AMN, Morgan A4, Morgan to Heuzey; 13 June  1908).31 Hence-
forward, the room of the Pavillon de la Trémoïlle displayed some small objects and
ceramics. The showcases of the Dieulafoy rooms also continued to be filled.
On the eve of the 1st World War, the département des Antiquités orientales there-
fore found itself cramped in rooms still decorated with outdated paintings. During
the conflict, all activities were interrupted at the Louvre, but publications continued:
“[T]here have been some new rooms and several new catalogues in press; the one on
Assyrian Antiquities by Mr Pottier has been published”.32 In 1913, Maurice Pézard
and Edmond Pottier published Musée du Louvre. Les Antiquités de la Susiane. (Mis-
sion J. de Morgan). The catalogue was scholarly and for the wider public, like a vis-
itor guide, and was soon expanded and reissued in 1926. This seminal work, which
followed the 1913 Dieulafoys catalogue, emphasised the origin of the Elamites and
contributed to the diffusion of knowledge of the Elamite world at the beginning of
the 20th century.
Upon reopening after the 1st World War, the départment des Antiquités orientales
still occupied ten rooms,33 just like in 1892! Nevertheless, in 1925 Henry Verne was
appointed director of the Louvre and initiated a complete reorganization. He wanted
each department within the museum to form a coherent whole (Verne 1934). The
Verne plan assigned the département des antiquités Orientales to the ground floor of

73
 — Marianne Cotty —

the Cour Carrée, 20 adjoining rooms, and some of the rooms occupied by the Min-
istry of Finance (Figure 4.1). The proposal was excellent but would only be achieved
partially, step by step. In 1930, prior to the general rearrangement, the department
organized an exhibition at the Musée de l’Orangerie: Fouilles de Tello, de Suse et
de Syrie (Figure 4.7).34 At that time, the Orangerie provided a temporary exhibition
space, not far from the Louvre’s palace.35 The great institutional excavations of the
Louvre and the more recent ones in Syria were presented in a modern museography
with an educational use of photography.
At the time of the great rearrangement in 1932–1933, the monuments of the Mor-
gan mission remained in the Assyrian gallery, and the Dieulafoy rooms were filled
with Levantine and Mesopotamian antiquities. In 1932, the Salle de Morgan in the
Pavillon de la Trémoïlle closed definitively, and the works were transferred to two
new rooms of the Cour Carrée: Salle Morgan I, and Salle Morgan II (Figures 4.1 and
4.8). This presentation, which lasted until 1936 (Lorendeau and Dewisme 2011: 45),
made it possible to “improve temporarily and properly the order and presentation
of the collections” (Verne 1934: 12). Nearby, a “third Persian room” presented the
capital of the Apadana and ceramics displayed according to Edmond Pottier’s typol-
ogy. The rooms were refreshed and the painted decorations were removed, revealing
a more sober mineral colour. In the interwar political and social context, the museum
wished to expand its audience to all segments of the population, and therefore a
real museographic reflection was undertaken. Thus, the presentation favoured major
works rather than long typological series of objects.36 Many works now found them-
selves returned to storage and the sleeker rooms permitted a more coherent geo-
graphical and chronological regrouping.

Figure 4.7  Rooms 3 and 4 in the exhibition Fouilles de Tello, de Suse et

de Syrie in the Musée de l’Orangerie (1930) (copyright Musée du Louvre,
Département des Antiquités Orientales).

74
 — Iranian collections at the Louvre —

Figure 4.8  Salle Morgan II in about 1950 (copyright Musée du Louvre,

Département des Antiquités Orientales).

On the eve of the 2nd World War, the new rooms of Antiquités Orientales were
inaugurated,37 but the work was far from being completed when in September 1939
the museum was completely evacuated with the exception of the Assyrian reliefs.
Three hundred cases were stored at Chambord and Cheverny and would be brought
back to Paris in late 1945, where they were slowly unpacked. Thanks to André Par-
rot, director of the Antiquités Orientales, the refurbishment of the rooms of the Cour
Carrée proposed by the Verne plan was completed. In 1947, the department was inau-
gurated on the occasion of the centenary of the Assyrian department; the collections
were finally grouped by regions and sites, beyond the boundaries of the missions. The
large geographical and chronological itinerary established for these rooms is still in
use: Mesopotamia, Iran, and the Levant. Of the 22 rooms of the department, eight
were occupied by Iranian collections. Finally, the recent excavations of the Louvre at
Tepe Giyan and Tepe Sialk came to complete the Susian collection and were exhibited
in Rooms V to XIII (Figure 4.1) (Parrot 1947). In the 1950s, the representation of
Elam, hitherto seen through the Susian prism, evolved again thanks to excavations at
Choga Zanbil conducted by Roman Ghirshman. Knowledge was considerably fleshed
out, and the results forced the re-­evaluation of certain theories and classifications.

CONCLU S IO N
The Louvre, despite its universal humanist vocation, had great difficulty in building
the museographic discourse of Iranian collections. The evolution of the presentation

75
 — Marianne Cotty —

over a half-­century demonstrates a close link between the excavation results and the
history of the collections. The abundance of items brought from Susa was exciting,
and their careful inventorying took a long time. The Achaemenid remains, the first
to be brought to France, were immediately successful. By contrast, the Elamite civ-
ilization, discovered and immediately exhibited, did not have time to win over the
public. Moreover, it was not easy to make Elamite civilization comprehensible to
the visitor, as its remains were distributed through very distant rooms, and all peri-
ods were mixed in a single room or in a single showcase. The general public would
therefore focus especially on the Achaemenid or Mesopotamian monuments, Elam
appearing as a “brilliant second, more or less marginal, in this prestigious collection”
(Amiet 1988: 10). The lack of permanent place and the inertia of the Louvre palace
were sometimes solved by organizing exhibitions outside the Louvre, allowing more
museographic freedom for the excavators and the curators. The books, paintings and
photographs revealed the site, its atmosphere and its excavators, enabling both the
education of the public and the expression of the nature of the lives of its explorers.

AB B REVIATIO NS
AMN Archives des Musées Nationaux.
MDP Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse.

NOTE S
* Translated from French by Javier Álvarez-Mon and Yasmina Wicks.
1 In 1895 the agreement between Naser ad-­Din Shah and France was negotiated and signed,
and France obtained an excavation monopoly over all of Persia. This agreement was
replaced in 1900 by a new treaty signed by Mozaffar ad-­Din Shah and the French minister
of foreign affairs (see N. Chevalier, Chapter 3 in this volume).
2 For example: the statue of Napir-­Asu, Sit Shamsi bronze model, the statue of Narundi,
the bas-­relief depicting the dragon-­serpent, the great sacrificial bronze table, the stele of
Untash-­Napirisha, the bas-­relief of the lady spinning, the bronze relief with warriors, and
many terracottas and written documents were included in the first shipments.
3 Regarding one of the shipments, Morgan speaks of “a thousand painted vases which form
an incomparable collection” (AMN, Morgan A4, 6 July 1908). The first publication of
ceramics: MDP I, Pl. 17–18 and MDP XIII.
4 His watercolour depicting the palace of Darius won him the gold medal at the 1914 Salon
des Artistes Français.
5 The list of discoveries of Morgan and annual inventories of Mecquenem were laconic
and imprecise. The inventory of excavations created at the museum using the register AS
(Antiquités de la Susiane) was meant to match the annual registers, but there are gaps and
duplicate entries. The current inventory Sb (Suse bis) was created in 1933 by G. Contenau,
curator of the department, to replace all previous inventories from Susa, considering the
disorder and complication that had surrounded their composition. It covers in part the
AOD inventories (Dieulafoy).
6 Léon Heuzey, director of the antiquités Orientales, wrote many letters to Morgan asking
for the discovery records (AMN, Morgan, A4).
7 In fact, the Dieulafoy rooms were opened in 1886 but had to close because the bricks were
deteriorating. They were treated with spermaceti and then re-­baked.

76
 — Iranian collections at the Louvre —

8 In 1892 the director of the Louvre decided to place historical labels in the rooms for the
sake of comprehension.
9 “ Le tout fut parfaitement réussi et deux grandes salles du premier étage du Louvre furent
installées; le chapiteau achéménide, la frise des lions, les frises d'archers en furent les
“clous” ”.
10 We do not know exactly which photographs were exhibited: “Braun is willing to print
the photographs brought by Dieulafoy. It would be very interesting to create an album of
those photos for the exhibit of the Missions”; “ Braun est disposé à tirer les photographies
rapporté par Dieulafoy. Il serait très intéressant de constituer en vue de l'exposition des
Missions, un album de ces photos. ” (AMN Z II-XX 1889).
11 “ (. . .) don au Musée du Louvre des plans de fouilles de Tello [et] du modèle de l’Apadana
de Darius, qui était exposé au Champs de Mars ”; “(. . .) gift of the plans of Tello exca-
vations [and] the model of the Apadana of Darius which was exhibited in the Champs
de Mars donated to the Louvre Museum” (AMN, A8–1889–1890. A. Kaempfen to A.
Fallières; December 12, 1889).
12 They received a prize for these reproductions: they are still visible in Paris at 11 Rue des
Sablons and on the facade of the residence of Lesueur in Vitry-­sur-­Seine (26 Rue Camille
Groult, Maison aux Lions).
13 The engravings illustrating the publications of Dieulafoy carried the testimonial: “Engrav-
ing after a photograph of . . .” (Gravure réalisée d'après une photographie de. . .).
14 The volume which accompanied the exhibit (Morgan 1902) summarises the works of the
delegation but without the object catalogue of the exhibition. These would be enumerated
in the second edition (Morgan 1905).
15 “ Hier premier jour public, il est venu plus de mille personnes je n’aurais jamais cru que
nos matériaux de démolition puissent obtenir un tel succès. Je croyais que seuls les savants
y prendraient intérêt. Quelques-uns il est vrai, peu nombreux boivent du vinaigre mais la
grande majorité était sincèrement contente ”.
16 “ Un plaisant déclarait que nous n'avions rapporté que des briques. Le propos n’était pas
juste, [. . .] mais n'eût-­il été fondé, que certes nous n’aurions pas eu à nous plaindre, car
ces modestes briques ne sont autres que “les pages de l’Histoire de Elam.”
17 “ La salle sera absolument encombrée de socles et de vitrine plates, le public aura grand
peine à y circuler. ”
18 “  Les égyptiens viennent de Chaldée [.  .  .] quant aux bijoux, le public qui ne lit que
rarement les étiquettes, croira qu'ils viennent de Telloh, qu'importe ! Pourvu qu'il fasse
honneur à notre musée? ”
19 “ “Les grands panneaux d'inscriptions et de sculptures moulés en plâtre d'après les estam-
pages, les tableaux de G. Bondoux atténuaient la sévérité des briques inscrites et des
lourdes sculptures élamites; les pièces les plus remarquables étaient la stèle de Naramsin
et le Code de Hammourabi. ”
20 “ Les fouilles de Suse ” (L’éclair, July 1908) referred to a bituminous relief (Sb 2724) and
the vase à la cachette (Sb 2723).
21 Oil on canvas H. 4.60 m. Musée du Louvre, Département de Peintures, 20802 (Harper
et al. 1992: 3). Oil on canvas H. 6.63 m. Musée du Louvre, Département de Peintures,
20803 (Harper et al. 1992: 17).
22 Now in the Musée du Louvre, Département de Peintures.
23 “ Car il fallait procurer au visiteur la vision du pays où les événements s’étaient déroulés
[.  .  .] aucune description ne peut remplacer ce que les yeux embrassent d’un seul coup
[. . .] ”.
24 About four thousand phototypes of the Mission en Perse are kept in the département des
Antiquités orientales of the Louvre: mainly panoramas and landscapes, but also of objects
and views of the site.

77
 — Marianne Cotty —

5 “ Possédait dans son pinceau la lumière de l'Orient. ”

2
26 “I decided with Mr. Bondoux to remove the paintings and panels that were yellowing the
window embrasures. Mr. Bondoux gave me a receipt for six hundred paintings, studies
painted during his mission with Mr. Morgan, twelve large panels for hanging up the paint-
ings and 11 watercolors of Mr. Émile André belonging to Mr Morgan. The Museum keeps
19 paintings that I have deposited provisionally on the landing that follows the Morgan
room”; “ J’ai décidé avec M. Bondoux à l’enlèvement des toiles et des panneaux qui
jaunissaient les embrasures de fenêtres. M. Bondoux m'a remis un reçu signé de six cent
toiles, études peintes au cours de sa mission avec M. de Morgan, douze grands panneaux
pour accrocher les toiles, et onze aquarelles de M. Émile André qui appartiennent à Mr de
Morgan. Le Musée garde dix-­neuf toiles que j’ai déposées provisoirement sur le palier qui
suit la salle de Morgan ”. (AMN, Morgan A4, Pottier to Morgan; 19 July 1906).
27 “The public was [. . .] satisfied to know Persia other than through blocks of diorite [. . .]
It is not sacrilegious to keep the paintings in the galleries dedicated to archaeology”; “ Le
public a [. . .] été satisfait de connaître la Perse autrement qu'à travers des blocs de diorite
[.  .  .] Il n'est pas sacrilège de conserver de la peinture dans les salles archéologiques.  ”
(AMN, Morgan A4, Morgan to Homolle; 20 June 1906).
28 “ L'élamite dispara[isse] au milieu de l'assyrien, du chaldéen, voire même de l'achéménide ”
and this melange “ brouille la vision du monde élamite. ”
29 Six hundred metres separate the room of the Pavillon de la Tremoïlle from the other col-
lections around the Cour Carrée.
30 “ Cet émiettement des collection de Suse (. . .) tout à fait déplorable, car la grande valeur
de ses séries est pour ainsi dire annihilée. ”
31 “ Le public ne puisse pas juger de l'ensemble [des collections] mais [. . .] on ne fait pas ce
qu'on veut. ”
32 M. Koechlin in L'annuaire de la société des amis du Louvre, 1919. “ Il y a eu quelques
nouvelles salles et plusieurs catalogues nouveaux sous presse celui des antiquités assyri-
ennes de M. Pottier a pu paraître. ”
33 Six rooms on the ground floor, three on the first floor of the colonnade and one in the
Pavillon de la Tremoïlle.
34 The exhibition catalogue was entitled: Catalogue de l’exposition d’antiquités orientales:
fouilles de Tello, de Suse et de Syrie: octobre -novembre 1930. Paris. Musée de l’Orangerie
des Tuileries. Paris: Musées Nationaux.
35 At the time, the Musée de l’Orangerie de Tuileries was attached to the Musée du Louvre.
36 The first true department guide (Rutten 1934) was also published.
37 In 1938 the rooms of the Department des Antiquités Orientales was inaugurated with
electric lighting to allow longer opening hours during winter.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Amiet, P. 1988. Suse, 6000 ans d’histoire. Paris: Monographies des Musées de France, Musée
du Louvre.
Aulanier, C. 1964. Histoire du Palais et du Musée du Louvre. Le Pavillon de l’Horloge et le
département des antiquités orientales. Paris: Éditions des Musées nationaux.
Bodenstein, F. 2012. Framing the Artifact. Murals for the Display of Antiquity in the Louvre.
Museum History Journal 5/2: 167–186.
Boré, E. 1842. Lettres sur quelques antiquités de la Perse. Journal Asiatique, troisième série 13:
327–335.
Chevalier, N. 1997. La découverte de la Perse antique par les voyageurs français au début du
XIX è siècle. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une Mission en Perse: 1897–1912, Les Dossiers du
musée du Louvre. Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux, 24–35.

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———. 2010. Les découvreurs du palais de Suse. In: Perrot, J. (ed.) Le palais de Darius à Suse:
Une résidence royale sur la route de Persépolis à Babylone. Paris: PUPS, 74–115.
Curtis, J. 1997. Les fouilles de W.K. Loftus à Suse. In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une Mission en
Perse: 1897–1912, Les Dossiers du musée du Louvre. Paris: Réunion des musées nationaux,
36–45.
Dieulafoy, J. 1887a. La Perse, la Chaldée et la Susiane. Paris: Hachette et Cie.
———. 1887b. À Suse (1884–1886). Journal des fouilles. Le Tour du Monde. Nouveau journal
des voyages 54 (1887/2): 1–96.
———. 1888a. A Suse, journal des fouilles, 1884–1885. Paris: Hachette.
———. 1888b. À Suse (1884–1886). Journal des fouilles. Le Tour du Monde. Nouveau journal
des voyages 55 (1888/1): 1–80.
Dieulafoy, M. 1885. L’art antique de la Perse: Achéménides, Parthes, Sassanides. Paris: Librairie
centrale d’architecture.
———. 1893. L’acropole de Suse, d’après les fouilles exécutées en 1884, 1885, 1886, sous les
auspices du Musée du Louvre. Paris: Hachette et Cie.
———. 1913. Les Antiquités de Suse découvertes et rapportées par la mission Dieulafoy
(1884–1886). Paris: E. Leroux.
Flandin, E.N. and Coste, P.X. 1843–1851. Voyage en Perse de MM. Eugène Flandin, peintre, et
Pascal Coste, architecte, attachés à l’ambassade de France en Perse pendant les années 1840
et 1841. Paris: Gide et Jules Baudry.
Fontan, E. 1994. Le décor assyrien de la Salle Sarzec au Louvre. In: Fontan, E. and Chevalier,
N. (eds.) De Khorsabad à Paris: la découverte des Assyriens. Paris: Réunion des musées
nationaux, 242–247.
Harper, P.O., Aruz, J. and Tallon, F. (eds.) 1992. The Royal City of Susa. Ancient Near Eastern
Treasures in the Louvre. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Jaunay, A. 1997. Mémoires de Jacques de Morgan 1857–1924. Paris: L’Harmattan.
Koechlin, M.R. 1911. Notice read by M.R. Koechlin. Société des amis du Louvre, Paris.
Lorendeau, J. and Dewisme, V. 2011. Guide Historique des salles du musée du Louvre, Sep-
tembre 2011 (non publié).
Mecquenem, R. de 1980. Les fouilleurs de Suse. Iranica Antiqua 15: 1–47.
Morgan, J. de‎ 1902. La Délégation en Perse du Ministère de l’Instruction publique, 1897–
1902. Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1905. Histoire et travaux de la Délégation en Perse. 1897–1902. Paris: E. Leroux.
———. 1906. Recherches archéologiques. Leur but et leurs procédés.‎ Paris: Éditions de la
“Revue des Idées”.
———. 1909. De Suse au Louvre: aventures d’un convoi d’antiquités entre Suse et la mer.
Paris: E. Leroux.
Parrot, A. 1947. Musée du Louvre: Le département des Antiquités orientales: Guide sommaire.
Paris: Réunion des Musées nationaux.
Pézard, M. and Pottier, E. 1913. Musée du Louvre. Les Antiquités de la Susiane (Mission J. De
Morgan). Paris: E. Leroux.
———.1926. Catalogue des Antiquités de la Susiane (Mission J. De Morgan). Musée National
du Louvre. Paris: Musées nationaux.
Rutten, M. 1934. Musée du Louvre: Antiquités orientales: guide. Paris: Musées nationaux.
Tallon, F. 1997. Les fouilles de Marcel Dieulafoy à Suse. La résurrection du palais de Darius.
In: Chevalier, N. (ed.) Une Mission en Perse: 1897–1912, Les Dossiers du musée du Louvre.
Paris: Réunion des Musées nationaux, 46–55.
Verne, H. 1934. Le Plan d’extension des regroupements méthodiques des collections des musées
du Louvre. Les travaux de 1927–1934. Bulletin des Musées de France 1: 1–38.

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 CHAPTER FIVE

ELAMITE FORGERIES AND THE

ANTIQUITIES MARKET

Oscar White Muscarella

INTRODU CTIO N
My main interests in Iranian art and archaeology, excavation and research, relate to
the Late Bronze and Iron Age, and thereby I became involved with Elamite archae­
ology and artifacts. I and many others learned a great deal from the superb volume on
excavated Elamite artifacts from all periods from The Royal City of Susa (eds. P. O.
Harper et al., Metropolitan Museum of Art 1992), which is required reading for all
Elamite studies. Inasmuch as forgers have made copies of the artifacts of nearly every
ancient culture, I was naturally led to investigating the existence of Elamite forgeries
when I began researching forgeries of ancient Near Eastern artifacts in general. My
work resulted in several articles and a book (Muscarella 2000a).
Forgeries exist throughout the whole corpus of alleged ancient antiquities, indeed
in all disciplines where collecting occurs, and have existed for many decades. Forger-
ies are manufactured to be sold alongside genuine unexcavated, plundered antiqui-
ties. They are manufactured in workshops all over modern Near Eastern countries (as
seen in Figure 5.1a; I obtained this photo of a workshop in Iran decades ago from a
Museum curator, but have no memory of how he got it). Their production and sales
escalated in the mid-­20th century due to increasing demands of museums and collec-
tors for prestigious “antiquities” to collect and publish. They are offered for sale by
self-­labeled antiquities dealers and auction houses, all self-­proclaimed experts, albeit
most sell forgeries worldwide (collectors exist in many countries), as if they had been
plundered (albeit that word is never used) and accordingly are purchased as such.
Forgeries of ancient Near Eastern antiquities are innumerable; I gave up attempting
to count them. But, so far as I have been able to determine, there are not many exam-
ples of Elamite forgeries that I have recognized (see Muscarella 2000a: 130–132).
The method for detecting forgeries is complex, but simple to describe. One must
thoroughly know the local styles and manufacture techniques of the cultures one
studies, viz. did they cast or hammer an object, make artifacts from one or more
pieces of metal, and most important, what was the nature of the designs and styles
of particular cultures (Muscarella 2000a: 18–20, 2000b, 2008, 2010)? There are no
shortcuts.

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Figure 5.1  [a] Photograph of an Iranian forger’s shop (Muscarella); [b] Helmet in the
Metropolitan Museum of Art purchased in 1963 (63.74).

TH E L ANGUAGE OF THE ANTIQU ITIE S M ARKE T

Archaeologists designate excavated material as artifacts, and those non-­excavated
as antiquities. Possessors of antiquities often claim they had been “excavated”, but
this term can be used only to designate an archaeological activity. Disorder, perti-
nent to both legal and archaeological matters, occurs when museums and antiquity
dealers, and some archaeologists, refer to “provenance” to identify a site-­source of

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an unexcavated antiquity. But the terms provenance and provenience are distinct,
inasmuch as they designate two distinct loci and two different activities. Provenience
specifically designates the site where an artifact was excavated; provenance identifies
the current or past location of the antiquity: a collector, museum, auction house or
dealer’s shop (Muscarella 1977a; and pace Brodie et al. 2000: 3).
Collector and museum catalogues and exhibition labels, along with auction house
and dealer catalogues, sometimes furnish a deceptive claim that the antiquity derived
from a named site, but they neglect to name the attribution informant: a dealer or a
previous auction house sale (Muscarella 1977c: 77–79; 2000a: 11, 14; Vitelli 1984:
153). A fairly small number of antiquities were indeed plundered and traded decades
ago, sometimes legally (e.g., “commercial excavations” in Iran). But these activities
have never ceased; they continue relentlessly throughout the world.

P LUNDERERS, ANTIQU ITY D E AL E RS ,

MUSEUMS AND F O RG E RIE S
The objective of plunder is the acquisition of treasure to be sold: no customers, no
plunder. Universally, it is conducted by gangs of looters (often known by the Italian
term tombaroli) who work as organized teams. Often they commit violence to defend
their sites (Brodie et  al. 2000: 15–17; Daily Telegraph, October  3, 2004). Dealers
and their customers disingenuously allege that their antiquities were merely “found
in the ground”, that “it was a poor farmer plowing his field” who accidentally made
a “chance find” (Atwood 2004: 288 n. 32). Or, in J. Cuno’s classic museum-­speak/
classical critical theory-­speak (to let readers know he has browsed Adorno): “It’s
out of the ground. It’s out of the country. It’s on the market” – the ground being a
“nationalist’s” buried cemetery, a tomb, or a mound (Bator 1982: 303–306; Elia
1997: 92; Mackenzie 2005: 55–60, 213–216, 229; Muscarella 2007: 612).
Antiquity dealers are the penultimate destination for plunder. They bear sophisti-
cated names such as Ariadne Galleries, Royal-­Athena Galleries, Phoenix Ancient Art
or simply the dealer’s name. They save and sell “art” “acquired through trade” and
“in good faith,” implying legitimate acquisition (Muscarella 1977b: 159–160; 2000a:
2; Koczka 1989: 190–191; Atwood 2004: 31). The final markets for dealers’ antiqui-
ties are collectors and museums (Muscarella 2007: 611–614; 2009a: 404–405). Auc-
tion houses are also major vendors of antiquities, many of which have been recently
plundered (Brodie et al. 2000: 23, 26–29). To disguise these antiquities, dealers and
auction houses provide a camouflage ruse, proffering a deceptive provenance by
claiming that their antiquity derived from “an old private collection” recently discov-
ered in a basement in Italy or Germany, or derived from a “noble European family”
or from the “Collection of Monsieur R” (Atwood 2004; Simpson 2005: 29–30, 32;
Muscarella 2007: 610; Christie’s, London, 10/25/07: 83). To document a purport-
edly old provenance, dealers will supply forged letters, eagerly embraced by their
customers, as documentation that the purchase was legitimate (Atwood 2004: 84).
They also often cite an earlier auction sale as a provenance for their antiquity, which
is merely a record of yet another modern provenance. Dealers also utilize auctions
to sell their merchandise anonymously, especially when they suspect it is a forgery.
Another antiquity-­selling market is the Internet – websites like eBay – where, along-
side genuine artifacts, forgeries are offered for sale (Stanish 2008). Such behavior

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is classic “bazaar archaeology” (Muscarella 1995; 2003: 264–265; 2006: 151–152,

157, 161–165).
It is evident that museums worldwide have been and remain the foremost pur-
chasers of plundered antiquities (Koczka 1989: 192–193; Muscarella 2000a: 23–25;
2007: 611–612). Curators, some of whom are archaeologists, initiate their museum
acquisitions, seeking out and proposing purchases (Muscarella 2007: 612–613;
2009a: 400–401; Cook 1995: 181, 185; Graepler 2004), but ultimately directors and
trustees make the final purchase decisions. Unknown to most scholars and the public
is that they make purchases (and accept donations) knowing that they were plundered
and smuggled abroad, an activity rarely reported in the press (for rare examples, see
E. Wyatt, The New York Times, 1/26/08: 1, 13; 1/30/08). Trustees include not only
wealthy and powerful citizens but also national and local government officials and
owners of important newspapers, all functioning in conflict-­of-­interest roles (Silver
2006: 3; Muscarella 2009a: 399; 2009b: 7, 11–12). Some trustees collect antiquities,
in part for eventual tax-­deductible donations to their museums (Nagin 1986: 24;
Renfrew 2000: 27–35; Atwood 2004: 141–142; Silver 2006: 1; Wald 2008). Pri-
vate collectors are also wealthy individuals of social importance, exemplifying these
roles by their purchases. These are exhibited in, or donated to, museums, for which
they have galleries named after them, and receive tax-­deduction benefits based on
the alleged increase in value since the original purchase (Brodie and Renfrew 2005:
353–356; Silver 2006: 1, 7–8; Greenfield 2007: 259). And noteworthy is the fact that
it is self-­serving antiquities dealers who furnish the museum appraisals. Collectors are
cited by dealers and museum personnel as “prominent” or “serious” (read “serial”)
collectors, as having a “lust” or passion for art, thus revealing their infatuation (Mus-
carella 2000a: 9, 11–13, 23 n. 5). Consequently, pivotal to comprehending the nature
of the plunder culture is full awareness that, worldwide, museums and private col-
lectors are the financers and sponsors, the beginning of the long chain of the process
(Brodie and Renfrew: 2005: 349).
The detection of forgeries takes years of studying excavated artifacts, their specific
styles and motifs, as well as the structuring technologies and materials employed
by individual cultures, that is, to employ connoisseurship (a word now condemned
by some). Connoisseurship, like all heuristic investigations, is fallible but is abso-
lutely essential for the study of artifacts and antiquities, with the caveat that, aside
from scholarly mistakes and ignorance, it has its manipulators (Muscarella 1977b:
165–169 n. 68; 1980: 118–119; Löw 1993: 39–41; Simpson 2005: 28–34; Grann
2010). While archaeologists are becoming capable of recognizing forgeries, some
(most?) who are anthropologically trained are not. Brazenly rejecting these skills,
they assert, “Archaeology is anthropology or it is nothing”, and they scorn traditional
archaeologists as “object oriented self-­serving . . . antiquarians” (Muscarella 2000a:
10–11). Accordingly, those who proclaim this off-­the-­wall dogma theory ignore sty-
listic evaluations of artifacts they encounter (except pottery), and lack both knowl-
edge and interest in evaluating forgeries. Some forgeries exhibit good workmanship
and artistic skills (e.g., Waxman 2008: 153–162), others reveal unskilled hands,
incorporating stylistic errors or anachronistic details (Löw 1993; Lawergren 2000;
Muscarella 2000a: 31–215). Forgers often unwittingly produce stylistic or physical
­discrepancies – for example, eye structure – or misinterpret ancient manufacturing
techniques (Löw 1993: 38; Muscarella 2000a: 31–132, 206–212 nn. 8–50; 2008: 14).

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 — Oscar White Muscarella —

Forgers copy both forgeries and excavated artifacts. They also create pastiches,
utilizing a genuine core with the addition either of non-­related ancient or modern-­
made elements, or add engraved scenes to genuine unadorned plaques or vessels.
Forgers often attempt to create a unikum, a hitherto unrecorded type of artifact and
therefore all the more valuable to customers and scholars (Butcher and Gill 1993:
386; Muscarella 2000a: 17–19, 209 n. 31; 2006: 166–167).
Scholarly awareness of forgeries of ancient Near Eastern artifacts began in the late
19th and early 20th centuries but then declined (Muscarella 1977b: 154–155, 169 n.
68; 2000a: 9). Early discussions were primarily concerned with a specific object or
inscription, many of them alleged to be Hebrew and Christian texts. At present, rel-
atively few scholarly references to forgeries occur in archaeological literature, often
through ignorance, but also because some scholars deliberately suppress discussions
to defend themselves or colleagues, which deeds play a significant role regarding
general ignorance of their existence (Muscarella 1977b: 154–156, 161–163; 1980:
117–118 n. 3; 2000a: 2–5, 7–10, 12; Butcher and Gill 1993: 387, 396, 399 n. 4, 396
n. 36). Thousands of forgeries of Ancient Near Eastern antiquities have been created
and sold in the post-­World War I period. All antiquity dealers sell forgeries and some
have collaborated with forgers for decades, especially those in Iran.
Forgeries exist of every conceivable type of ancient artifact and material. Follow-
ing a significant archaeological discovery or a recent plunder, forgers immediately
begin copying the excavated artifacts, a practice not limited to the Near East (see
Butcher and Gill 1993; Lapatin 2000: 18–28). Forged Iranian antiquities are very
common, resulting in countless examples based on artifacts from Marlik, Luristan,
the Achaemenian period, Ziwiye, Jiroft and Kalmakarra Cave (Muscarella 1977c:
78–79; 2000a: 44–133; 2001; 2003).

T HE INVOLVEMENT OF ARCHAE O L O G IS TS
Professional behavior of archaeologists is an important component of this review.
A  good number remain indifferent (Muscarella 2000a: 26, n. 8; 2007; 2009a:
395–396, 398–405) or are troubled solely within the areas they excavate, fully
ignoring others. Some archaeologists remain unaware of the plunder culture and
the contextual existence of unprovenienced antiquities possessing only modern
provenances; as students they were never informed by their professors (Muscarella
2000a: 9–10), and they pass down their lack of knowledge. Some fully ignore it.
Further, nota bene, many university-­and museum-­employed archaeologists actively
support antiquity acquisitions. They collaborate with and advise dealers and col-
lectors on their purchases (Muscarella 1977b: 160, 163–164; 2000a: 3–8, 13–15;
2009a: 398–403 and n. 38; Vitelli 1984: 152–154) or write muted apologies
for their roles (Muscarella 1980; Cook 1995). Archaeologists write articles and
provide guidance for the antiquity dealer-­owned magazine Minerva (Muscarella
2009a: 403 n. 38) and ones promoting antiquity collecting, such as Odyssey. Some
meet socially with dealers and collectors for collaborative purposes, providing them
with advice, and give lectures on their excavations and research, seeking prestige
and financing (Muscarella 2000a: 23–25 n. 5; 2007: 612–614; 2009a: 401). Others
accept employment with collectors, dealers and auction houses recommended by
their archaeologist professors.

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Some archaeologists have also functioned as antiquity dealers themselves (Butcher

and Gill 1993); others actively support them (Muscarella 2000a: 7–8, 23, 25–26 nn.
7 and 8). Some have stolen artifacts from their sites and sold or donated them to for-
eign museums and collectors. The most outstanding cases were Heinrich Schliemann
(1822–1890), Roman Ghirshman (1895–1979), and Ernst Herzfeld (1879–1948).
Herzfeld was one of the most brilliant (and devious) Iranian archaeologists known.
He stole many artifacts that he himself had excavated at Persepolis and other sites,
and then illegally, contrary to archaeological principles, smuggled them abroad via
Swedish and German diplomatic luggage. He (and his sister) then sold these on to
several museums; he also sold forgeries (Majd 2003: 73, 197, 199, 200–204; Mus-
carella 2005). One example, looted from Persepolis and now in the Metropolitan
Museum of Art (MMA), is a foot with an etched Greek drawing, cut from a relief by
Herzfeld and smuggled abroad (Muscarella 2005: 431). Nevertheless, scholars con-
tinue to defend Herzfeld’s crimes, claiming that he was merely “an avid collector of
antiquities . . . he collected small objects” (“avid” here being a synonym for lust and
passion, thereby justifying rapists, those of the earth and others: Muscarella 2000a:
12, 23–24 n. 5); only mentioned in a footnote are his sales to the MMA of “arti-
facts from the Persepolis excavations” (Mallampati 2005: 111–112, 116; Muscarella
2005). Such behavior remains unfamiliar to most scholars, students and the public.
In the past, archaeologists did sometimes purchase antiquities from dealers, which
was not considered a cultural crime at the time, and their collecting cannot be judged
by modern standards – a case in point is André Godard (see Muscarella 1977a: 197;
whether Godard sold antiquities is unknown). Roman Ghirshman looted artifacts
from his own sites and then gifted them to foreign museums, which led to his being
awarded Life Membership of the MMA (in 1957); he also sold antiquities (Mus-
carella 2000a: 25–26 n. 7).
All the artifacts sold/donated by Herzfeld and Ghirshman were illegally removed,
thefts from Iran, their legal owner. As for Arthur Upham Pope (1881–1969), he was
one of the most powerful and duplicitous individuals involved in the destruction of
Iran’s culture. He warrants discussion both because he and others have asserted he
was an archaeologist (Mallampati 2005: 112), although he was not, and because he
was for 45 years one of the most active Iranian antiquity dealers known. Pope estab-
lished archaeological organizations as scholarly fronts for his plundering activities,
using them as camouflaged “archaeological” venues for his dealer activities. He com-
missioned thefts from Islamic shrines and purchased countless antiquities, smuggling
them abroad in diplomatic pouches. His writings defend his archaeological respon-
sibility to purchase and export antiquities, arguing that forgeries (that he and others
sold) were a minor collaborative problem (Muscarella 2000a: 209–211 nn. 36 and
38; Majd 2003: 29–53).
Another serious problem is that many academics (and thus their students) unhes-
itatingly cite as reality the certification of curator/archaeologists that purchased or
donated artifacts are genuine and archaeological evidence for cultural history. They
also declare as archaeological fact a specific geographical provenience, a locus, for
the purchased object, which information was furnished by a dealer (although never
mentioned). Museum-­ritual demands that one eliminate the crucial empirical dis-
tinctions between excavated and plundered artifacts, thus falsifying the historical
record. Research on unexcavated antiquities permits scholars merely to study mute,

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plundered antiquities only in a phenomenological sense, to attribute them to a par-

ticular culture and date through connoisseurship. Because in ancient times artifacts
were sold, gifted or dedicated to faraway centers, archaeologists cannot attribute
them to their depositional site, even if the culture can be determined (Muscarella
1977a; 2000a: 13–14; Elia 1997). Therefore, unexcavated antiquities, along with
(unexcavated) forgeries, both attributed to ancient sites or cultures, create a frag-
mented and fictional history of the past.

PLUNDERING THE IRANIAN PAS T

Looting is the basis for all current plundering, evidenced by the vast number of
destroyed sites throughout the Near East. These activities increased in the 19th cen-
tury, a result of the renewed interest in antiquity and fueled by a fulfillment of social
ambitions exemplified by the increased collecting of antiquities by museums and pri-
vate collectors everywhere (Meyer 1973: 46–47, 191–197). Plunder existed at this
time in Iran – for example, Hamadan, the Median capital, violated in the 1890s. In
the 1920s exploitation in Iran expanded, initiated by the destructions of Luristan
cemeteries, financed by Iranian dealers prodded by their growing number of foreign
customers. Luristan continued to be plundered for decades, and thousands of its
antiquities have been purchased (Muscarella 1988: 112–120, 136–206). Thanks to
years of excavations by Louis Vanden Berghe, scores of intact tombs were recovered,
providing for the first time local cultural contexts. Only one Luristan habitation site
has been excavated: Surkh Dum, in the 1930s (Muscarella 1988: 115–135).
And contrary to the belief among some archaeologists, sites in Iraq, a state with
anti-­plunder laws, were also being looted in the 1920s and 1930s. Numerous Iraqi
antiquities were smuggled for sale to Iran, a state with no anti-­plunder laws. Hence,
for decades scholars accepted as archaeological fact that Mesopotamian artifacts,
some bearing royal inscriptions, derived from Iranian sites. Such presumptions
resulted in erroneous historical interpretations of alleged ancient Mesopotamian
contacts east of the Zagros Mountains (Muscarella 2000a: 15, 18–21 n. 36). Forg-
ers of provenience, they produced a concomitant forgery of history, generated from
scholar-­dealer cooperation, which is not the only example (Muscarella 1977b:
162–163; 1977c: 77–78). Scholars have also attributed stray Luristan antiquities
encountered as deriving from Armenia, the Caucasus, Iraq and Anatolia. Luristan
antiquities displayed in the Adana and Van Museums in eastern Turkey were con-
fiscated from Iranian smugglers. I also saw in a Van jewelry shop a lion pin stolen
and smuggled from Hasanlu in Iran (Muscarella 1988: 112–113, 115; 2000a: 214
n. 56). Plundering essentially ceased during World War II, but soon thereafter recom-
menced extensively across the Near East. The prime cause was the appearance of
more Luristan material.
More momentous was the sudden appearance of exquisite, hitherto unknown
antiquities purported by dealers and archaeologists (e.g., André Godard and Roman
Ghirshman) to have been discovered in 1947 at Ziwiye, in western Iran (Muscarella
1977a; 1988: 342–349). Museums and collectors all over the world soon thereafter
purchased them, and this continued for years as more “Ziwiye” material surfaced.
A number of the bronze, gold and silver objects had been cut into pieces and parti-
tioned among the plunderers, an action resulting in scores of fragments sold all over

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the world (Hiebert and Cambon 2008: 67–79). The partition required years of work
by scholars to sort out and match the scattered fragments. Moreover, it was impos-
sible to know how many of the hundreds of artifacts purported to have come from
Ziwiye were actually recovered there or in fact came from elsewhere (other sites, e.g.
Qaplantu, have been proffered by dealers). Excavations at Ziwiye by American and
Iranian archaeologists recovered not a single comparable artifact, but a historically
important Urartian 7th century BC seal was excavated there. The Ziwiye episode
epitomizes the utter destruction of a complex polity’s integrity and culture, and led
to increased plundering across Iran. Thus, following excavation in the southwest
Caspian region at Marlik, sites in the area were subsequently attacked. It took Ezat
Negahban 11 continuous months to complete his excavations at Marlik (Novem-
ber 1961 through October 1962), harassed continuously by thugs who attacked his
camp, demanding the site for themselves (Muscarella 2000c). The Iranian govern-
ment had to send police in to protect him.
One egregious example is the plunder in 2001 of a number of cemeteries exposed
by flooding to the south of Jiroft, in southeastern Iran. Locals discovered intact buri-
als filled with artifacts and immediately began, not accidentally, to seek out others,
selling their finds to eager, indeed rapacious, dealers. Simultaneously, forgeries were
manufactured and sold alongside the genuine loot, all labeled as “from Jiroft” (Mus-
carella 2001). Subsequent archaeological activity in the area neglected to investigate
these cemeteries, to find out, as Vanden Berghe did in Luristan, whether some burials
had been missed; this was a serious archaeological blunder.

CASE STUD IE S
Bitumen roundels
One group of Elamite forgeries that catches our attention when seeking problem
pieces are the unexcavated small bitumen roundels, ca. 10 cm. They display a forward-­
facing bearded male with side hair curls, or a central rosette surrounded by rams in a
low relief, and one example has a central protruding knob; the rim is surrounded by
a rope pattern (viz. Muscarella 1988: 227–228, Figs. 16–18). Of the roundel corpus
only four fragmented examples have been excavated, all in southern Iran: two at
Haft Tepe and two at Susa, all with a central rosette surrounded by reclining rams,
dated to the Middle Elamite period, ca. 14th–13th centuries BC (Negahban 1984:
6, Figs. 3–6). There also exists, albeit plundered, two precise parallels for the deity
heads on the roundels. One is on an Elamite helmet in the Metropolitan Museum
of Art (Muscarella 1988: 224, Figure 1b) depicting a frontal male deity flanked by
two females, the other occurs on another helmet (Trésors de L’Ancien Iran, Geneva
1966, no. 536, Pl. 32). The deity has the very same projecting bearded face and side
curls as the roundel deity figures. Focusing on the unexcavated roundels with a fron-
tally facing bearded male, there are 12 examples; some preserve the original silver or
gold overlay. They exist in the Metropolitan Museum of Art (ex-­Norbert Schimmel
collection), The Los Angeles County Art Museum, a Texas private collection, The
British Museum, The Louvre (two examples; Amiet 1977), the Tehran Museum, in
the Pierre Amandry collection (Negahban 1984, Nos. 5–12, Figs. 7–13; Muscarella
1988: 228, nn. 4–7). Other examples have been offered for sale by auction houses.

87
 Figure 5.2  Bitumen Roundels: [a] Los Angeles Art Museum; [b] Private Texas
Collection; [c] Drouot Rive Gauche July 11, 1979 sales catalogue, No. 13; [d] Sotheby’s
New York sales catalogue December 14, 1993, No. 25; [e] Christie’s sales catalogue
2004, No. 406; [f] Jerome Eisenberg, Art of The Ancient World, 1965, No. 94.
 — Forgeries and the antiquities market —

Seven of the 12 roundels appear to be ancient, and I believe that five are forgeries or
at least problematic:

1. Los Angeles County Art Museum: very close in all features to the Texas example
(no. 2, below; Muscarella 2000a: 130, no. 2). As the Museum catalogue entry
(p. 105) notes, “The piece has been extensively repaired in modern times. It is no
longer easy to establish by eye how much of it is ancient” (Figure 5.2a).
2. Texas collection (Muscarella 2000a: 131, no. 3); compare the Los Angeles exam-
ple above (Figure 5.2b).
3. Antiquity dealer sales catalogue, Drouot Rive 1979, no. 13: (Muscarella 2000a:
131, no. 6). It is remarkably close to Hotel Drouot 1996, no. 177, which may be
ancient, but there the rams face right, as in all other cases, while here rams face
left (Figure 5.2c).
4. Antiquity dealer sales catalogue, Sotheby’s 1993, no. 25 (Muscarella 2000a: 131,
no. 5) (Figure 5.2d).
5. Antiquity dealer, Jerome Eisenberg, Christie’s 2004, no. 406 (Figure 5.2e). The
obvious problems are the execution of the heads and depiction of all its facial
features, the hair, eyes, lips, beard and side curls; also the dotted hair patterns
on the rams; and in one case, no. 2, the rams face left, not the common right.
All the unexcavated roundels with a central rosette appear to be ancient, but
a gold(?) disc owned by a dealer with four recumbent rams around a central
knob (Muscarella 2000a: 130, no. 1) is a very obvious modern production
(Figure 5.2f).

The “Kalmakara Cave” Silver Rhyton

The Kalmakarra Cave in Luristan in the early 1990s reportedly yielded scores of
hitherto stylistically unknown artifacts (a corpus of perhaps hundreds of silver antiq-
uities dating to the 7th century BC) that have surfaced in the antiquities market
(Muscarella 2000b: 30, n. 6).
One of the prominent objects belonging to this group is a silver rhyton. The vessel
is an enclosed hollow griffin; its body is formed from two joined units with head,
wings and feet added. Two upright funnels project from the sides, and one from the
griffin’s anus, allowing liquid to be supplied and then to flow from the hollow inte-
rior. It is approximately 17.5 cm in length, 20 cm in height (Figure 5.3a). Needless
to add, no other vessel known has an anus spout. Surely the forger thought he was
clever by creating this feature, an unikum that would catch the eyes and money of
museums and antiquities collectors: he was correct.
The griffin rhyton arrived in the United States in 2000 and was sold to Paula
Cussi, a billionaire collector and Trustee of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, by
the antiquities dealers Hicham and Ali Aboutaam. Cussi first saw it at their Geneva
gallery in 1999 where she was informed that it had derived from the Kalmakara
Cave in Iran, and its authenticity had been verified for them by three conservator
specialists, Tom Chase, Jack Ogden, and Peter Meyers. All authenticated it as ancient,

89
 — Oscar White Muscarella —

Figure 5.3  Objects from the Kalmakara Cave: [a] Silver Rhyton (ex-­Aboutaam
collection); [b] Lion attacking a bull (Aboutaam collection); [c] Silver rhyton
(MIHO Museum, Japan).

two specifically attributing it to this cave. Peter Northover of Oxford University also
examined a metal sampling, but I  have no information regarding his conclusion.
Cussi agreed to pay the Aboutaams $950,000 when they delivered the griffin to her

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home in New York City, which she did in 2002. However, when importing the griffin,
they claimed that it derived from Syria. Somehow the U.S. Department of Immigra-
tion and Customs Enforcement (ICE; later the Department of Homeland Security)
became aware of the Syria lie and on that basis in December 2003 confiscated the
griffin. The Aboutaams were also fined $5,000 and ordered to return to Cussi her
purchase price. This event was reported in various newspapers shortly thereafter, in
2004; no photographs were published (Klein 2010).
I first viewed the griffin via photographs sent to me in November 2006 by the
scholar Wouter Henkelman, who had examined it from a photograph provided by
James McAndrew, an ICE agent, and accurately considered it “a very bad forgery”,
“a parody”. On November 6, 2006, Paul Kunkel, who was researching the Kalma-
kara Cave plunder, told me he had watched a WCBS-TV video (November 4) that
showed a journalist, Melissa Klein, with James McAndrew showing her confiscated
objects in the Agency’s Queens Warehouse; the griffin was in the background. Years
later, on June 6, 2010, the New York Post published an article by Klein about her
viewing of antiquities in the warehouse. Singled out and illustrated was the silver
griffin, which I  believe was its first public viewing. It was declared to have been
looted from an Iranian cave, and the Kalmakara Cave was the provenance cited in
later reports. From the nature of a number of inscriptions, they were identified as
Late Elamite; that is, according to the sales catalogue of H. Mahboubian [no date,
post 1979], where it is claimed that they are “Median, 10th–9th century BC”, and
the property of his families’ collection since 1934. Kunkel and I  sent McAndrew
and another agent requests to see the griffin or good photographs; we were refused,
albeit they had been sent to Henkelman years earlier. I first published comments on
the griffin in 2008 (pp. 14–15), and then in 2010 and 2012 (pp. 186–187); see also
Klein (2010).
In September 2013 the griffin surfaced again, in a new and politically unfortunate
event. It was announced in various newspapers, blogs and TV in Iran and elsewhere
that President Obama was “returning” the rhyton to Iran as a sign of good will.
I  emailed two colleagues in Iran and notified them that the griffin never derived
from Iran and that it was an obvious forgery, citing my articles. They immediately
informed the Iranian authorities who began an investigation. For several weeks there-
after reports on the Internet (viz. Susan Mazur: SCOOP, October 9 and 15), and in
newspapers in Iran and Israel highlighted the forgery issue. But not one newspaper
in the U.S. reported it. Obviously President Obama did not know his gift was a forg-
ery, for he had correctly asked the Queens warehouse staff for a confiscated Iranian
antiquity. He was deceived by one or more of its government employees who had
been informed that it was a forgery.

Lion attacking bull

In 2003 I  received photographs from Wouter Henkelman of a sculpture of a lion
attacking a reclining bull, apparently bronze. He had received it from James McAn-
drew. I believe it was also in the possession of the Aboutaams (Figure 5.3b). Henkelman
recognized it as a manifest forgery, poorly copied from a plundered genuine example
in the Kalmakara Cave corpus (Mahboubian, no. 14): one need merely glance at the
two objects together. I published it as a forgery but the photograph I supplied was

91
 — Oscar White Muscarella —

omitted (Muscarella 2012: 187). I believe all the objects published by Mahboubian in
his sales catalogue are ancient; they are masterpieces of workmanship.

Assurbanipal’s beaker
The MIHO Museum in Japan purchased a silver beaker bearing an Assyrian royal
scene, troops, chariots, musicians, attendants, captives in three circular panels with a
fourth, the lowest, bearing a floral pattern (Figure 5.3c). It has two inscriptions, one
of Assurbanipal in Akkadian on the outer rim, and one by a Neo-­Elamite king on the
inner rim. Its publisher, Erika Bleibtreu (1999: 21) was aware that it was recovered
from somewhere in a cave (Kalmakara was not mentioned). To Bleibtrau the vessel’s
decoration is classic Assyrian in style and décor, and she indicates that it was taken to
Iran by Medians in 612 BC, there later to be inscribed by the Elamite king in ca. 550
BC. The vessel itself is ancient.
Interesting is that the scene took much time to engrave, and yes, by a competent
and skilled engraver. Therefore, it is imperative that more than one analysis by honest
and competent technicians be accomplished to help resolve whether it is modern or
ancient workmanship. The scene is of Assyrian art, but inasmuch as it has both an
Elamite inscription and a forged ancient history, I think it appropriate to consider
the beaker in this chapter. I first published it in Muscarella 2000b and then in 2014:
48–49, demonstrating that the sogennant Assyrian scene is modern, a clever but
obvious forgery with many blunders and misrepresentations added in modern times.
My forgery conclusion has been accepted by Bo Lawergren (2000), Pauline Albenda
(2001) and Henkelman (2003: 216 and n. 128), but Pierre Amiet (2000: 190) accepts
the scenes as ancient. I suggest that the MIHO Museum hire two separate conserva-
tors to examine the method of the engraving and attempt to discover when the scene
was engraved on the vessel.

Miscellaneous “Elamite” forgeries

(1) A small (height 7 cm) silver vessel depicting a seated figure, a harp player and an
attendant (Figure 5.4a) is very crudely executed in all features: Antiquity dealer
sales catalogue, Christie’s, London 2011, pp. 210–211. For a genuine excavated
parallel for the scene (probably its model), see Harper et al. 1992, no. 51.
(2) A crude, non-­distinct 10 cm high bronze nude bearded male (Figure 5.4b) Mer-
hav (1981, no. 83, 115) says it is “probably Elamite”. For other examples, see
Muscarella 2000a: 131–132, nos. 11–13.
(3) A copper bronze finial with two crudely executed animals (Figure 5.4c): antiq-
uity dealer sales catalogue, Sotheby’s New York, June 12, 2001, no. 135.
(4) A bitumen protome vessel with a projecting animal head and carved horns, eyes
and crudely incised body lines (Figure  5.4d), antiquity dealer sales catalogue,
Hotel Drouot May 22, 1989, no. 478; Muscarella 2000a: 131, no. 9. Is the vessel
and head damaged and ancient, and later embellished? For a genuine example
of an ibex projecting from a vessel from Choga Mish see 7000 Jahre persische
Kunst, Wilfried Seipel (ed.), SKIRA 2003, no. 40.
(5) In Muscarella 2000a: 131, nos. 7, 8, I cited two small fragmented stone plaques,
no. 7 depicting in relief a king holding a dagger and a staff, no. 8 a broken-­away

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 — Forgeries and the antiquities market —

Figure 5.4  [a] Silver vessel, Christie’s sales catalogue, London 2011;
[b] Bronze nude male; [c] Copper/bronze finial (Sotheby’s New York, June 12,
2001, No. 135); [d] Bitumen vessel (Hotel Drouot May 22, 1989, No. 478).

winged figure grasping to his left an ostrich by the neck, followed by a crowned
and bearded human-­headed lion holding (missing) objects in his upright hands.
I may have been wrong regarding no. 7, but cannot avoid thinking no. 8 may be

93
 — Oscar White Muscarella —

a forgery; it is at least suspicious. For a genuine similar-­sized stone plaque with

two males holding daggers and facing left see Harper et al. 1992: 201, no. 142;
for a figure grasping an ostrich, see Collon 1987, nos. 350, 405.

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———. 2000. (Review Work) Ein vergoldeter Silberbecher der Zeit Assurbanipals im Miho
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Beiheft 28, 1999 by Erika Bleibtreu. Revue Archéologique 94: 190.
Atwood, R. 2004. Stealing History. New York: St. Martin’s Press.
Bator, P.M. 1982. An Essay on the International Trade in Art. Stanford Law Review 34/2:
275–384.
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21–30.
Brodie, N. and Renfrew, C. 2005. Looting and the World’s Archeological Heritage: The Inade-
quate Response. Annual Review of Anthropology 34: 343–361.
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The Acquisition of the Fitzwilliam Goddess. American Journal of Archaeology 97: 383–491.
Christie’s 2004. Sales Catalogue. London.
Collon, D. 1987. First Impressions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
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 PART II

THE LAND AND PEOPLES

OF ELAM
 CHAPTER SIX

PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY AND

ENVIRONMENT OF ELAM

Cameron A. Petrie, Morteza Djamali,

and Matthew D. Jones

INTRODU CTIO N
This chapter presents an overview of the physical geography and environment of
ancient Elam. There have been various challenges to delineating the geographical lim-
its of the cultural and political entity that was ancient Elam, initially stemming from
early misunderstandings of the location of toponyms mentioned in Mesopotamian
sources (Carter, E. and Stolper 1984; Vallat 1998; Potts 1999, 2016). For the pur-
poses of this discussion of Elam’s physical geography and environment, we consider
all of the lowland and highland areas that were part of Elam at its greatest extent. In
addition to discussing the geographical extent, geology, geomorphology, hydrology,
climate and vegetation of the regions that make up ancient Elam, we also comment
briefly about the historical conception of its geography.

G EOGRAPHICAL EXTENT O F ANCIE NT E L AM

Ancient Elam, broadly construed, spanned much of the south-­western parts of the
Iranian Plateau (Carter, E. and Stolper 1984; Potts 2016: 7–13), which is the key geo-
graphical feature that links Western Asia to the South Asian subcontinent and Cen-
tral Asia (Petrie 2013a: 4). In essence Elam was comprised of a cross-­section of the
distinctive features and zones that make up the Zagros Mountain range (Figure 6.1).
The ranks of high ridges of the south-­western Zagros are flanked on the west by low-
land piedmonts, alluvial plains and foothills, and within the uplands these ridges are
separated by narrow linear and larger intermontane valleys, plains and alluvial and
colluvial fans (Fisher 1968; Harrison 1968; Petrie 2013a: 6; Potts 2016: 16).
It is perhaps unsurprising that sedentary settlement in different parts of the Zagros
is typically restricted to areas on the piedmonts, alluvial plains and valleys that have
both adequate water resources and sufficient areas of arable land (Petrie 2013a: 6;
Potts 2016: 16–18). These areas and the less arable uplands were, however, ideal for
pastoralism. Only a limited number of areas were suitable for extensive and intensive
settlement in the past, and these are irregularly distributed (de Miroschedji 2003;
Petrie et al. 2009; Petrie 2013a: 6). The primary regions that comprised ancient Elam
are the lowland plains of Khuzestan, in particular the area of Susiana around the
99
Figure 6.1  Map showing the topographic variation of the regions that comprise ancient Elam, including the distribution
of intermontane valleys and plains and the routes that are likely to have linked them together.
 — Geography and environment —

ancient capital of Susa (Shush/Shushan), and the highland regions of Fars, in partic-
ular the Kur River Basin and the capital cities of Anshan and Persepolis, which lie
approximately 500 km to the southeast of Susa (Figure 6.1; Potts 2016: 7–12). The
coastal regions around Bushehr were almost certainly also a part of Elam during
certain periods (e.g. Potts 2016: 15, 144, 168–169, 204, 230).

G EO LOGY, GEOMORPHOLOG Y AND HYD RO L O G Y

The ridges of the Zagros Mountain range generally stand between 2000–3000  m
above sea level (asl), and some summits rise to 3500–4500  m asl (Fisher 1968: 3;
Brookes 1982: 192; Roustaei et  al. 2006: 17, 2009: 17; Potts 2016: 15–16). Geo-
logically, the Zagros range is made up of several tectonic zones, and modern Fars
province stretches across both the Zagros Crush Zone and the Zagros Folded Belt
(Fisher 1968: 17; Harrison 1968: 166ff.; Stöcklin and Navabi 1973; Brookes 1989:
4–5; Roustaei et al. 2006: 17, 2009: 17). Most of the ridges of the Zagros Folded Belt
are comprised of parallel limestone anticlines oriented from northwest to southeast
(Stöcklin and Navabi 1973; Brookes 1989: 4–5; Roustaei et al. 2006: 17, 2009: 17).
The lowland regions of Elam are dominated by the extensive alluvial plains of Khu-
zestan, which are formed and watered by a range of rivers that drain large sections of
the central and south western Zagros (Figure 6.1). These include the Karkheh, Dez,
Karun, Marun and Zohreh Rivers, which have undergone a range of natural avulsions
and human modifications on the plains over the last 8,000 years (Baeteman et al. 2004;
Heyvaert 2007; Heyvaert and Baeteman 2007; Walstra et al. 2010, 2011). During the
early and middle Holocene, the lower end of the Khuzestan plain was a low-­energy tidal
embayment under estuarine conditions, but rapid sea-­level rise forced the coastline to
transgress swiftly across the shelf (Jones et al. 2013). Deceleration of the relative sea-­
level rise after c.5500 cal BP/3500 BC, associated with more arid conditions, allowed
coastal sabkhas to extend and aggrade while the position of the coastline remained
relatively stable (Jones et al. 2013). During the late Holocene, deceleration of the rela-
tive sea-­level rise continued, combined with a range of changes resulting from human
impact, including the construction of extensive irrigation canal networks during the
Sasanian period, which resulted in successive avulsions and the rapid deposition of
alluvial fans from c. 2500 cal BP/500 BC (Baeteman et al. 2004; Heyvaert 2007; Hey-
vaert and Baeteman 2007; Walstra et al. 2010, 2011; also Alizadeh et al. 2004).
The alluvial plains of Khuzestan supported human settlement from the aceramic
and the earliest phases of the ceramic Neolithic (Hole [ed.] 1987; Alizadeh 2003),
and settlements of both periods are known in the adjacent Deh Luran Plain (Hole
et al. 1969). The best-­known and potentially most important ancient settlement in the
greater region was the ancient capital of Susa (Shush/Shushan), which was one of, if
not the major centre in the region from 5000 BC up to the Islamic period (Potts 1999:
45ff., 2016: 49ff.; Gropp 2005; Vallat 2008; Boucharlat 2009; Martinez-­Sève 2015).
Extensive and intensive surveys have enabled the reconstruction of settlement distri-
bution over time in this area (e.g. Adams 1962; Johnson 1973; Wenke 1975–1976;
Miroschedji 1981, 2003; Hole [ed.] 1987; Alizadeh 1992), and in archaeological
terms it is probably one of the best-­understood regions of ancient Iran.
The largest intermontane plain in the upland regions of Elam was the Kur River
Basin, which was formed by a combination of long-­term erosion produced by rainfall
and the action of various watercourses, including the Kur and Pulvar rivers. Taken
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 — C a m e r o n A . Pe t r i e , M o r t e z a D j a m a l i , e t a l . —

as a whole, the Kur River Basin is more extensive than the plains of Khuzestan,
though large areas are likely to have been covered by marshes until relatively recently
(e.g. Kamjan marshes; Taylor 2016; 55–57). The Kur River Basin is known to have
supported concentrations of human settlements from the late seventh/early sixth
millennium BC onwards (Sumner 1990a, 1990b). It appears to have been settled
by sedentary agriculturalists at some point after settlements appeared in lowland
Khuzestan, though an aceramic Neolithic settlement has been discovered at Tappeh
Rahmatabad, which is situated nearby at the mouth of the Tang-­e Bulaghi (Azizi
Kharanaghi et  al. 2013). The largest and most important prehistoric settlement in
the Kur River Basin was Tal-­e Malyan, which was the highland capital of Anshan
intermittently during the fourth, third, second and potentially also early first millen-
nium BC (Carter, E. and Stolper 1984; Sumner 1988a, 2003; Alden 2013). During
the Achaemenid period, Tal-­e Malyan was supplanted first by Pasargadae and then
Persepolis as the highland capital of Elam, which became Persis (Potts 2016: 307ff.).
Like Khuzestan, this region has been subjected to several extensive and intensive sur-
veys (e.g. Sumner 1972, 1990a, 1990b; Alden 1979, 2013).
In various locations scattered along the length of the Zagros chain between Khu-
zestan and the Kur River Basin, tectonic factors operating in tandem with long-­term
erosion of the softer sedimentary rocks have created linear intermontane basins, which
have filled with sediments eroded from the surrounding mountain formations and
piedmonts (Oberlander 1968; Stöcklin and Navabi 1973; Brookes 1982: 201; Rous-
taei et  al. 2006: 17, 2009: 17). These basins include Shushtar, Lordegan, Behbehan,
Zohreh, Mamasani and Kazerun. One or more rivers water most of these valleys and
some of these watercourses flow through several valleys, for example, the Zohreh River,
which rises in the high Zagros and passes through both the Mamasani and Zohreh
valley systems before flowing into the Persian Gulf (Roustaei et al. 2006: 22, 2009:
22; Potts 2016: 19–20). Archaeological research in Behbehan, Zohreh, Mamasani and
the coastal region around Bushehr has demonstrated that these regions had sedentary
occupation from the ceramic Neolithic onwards (e.g. Dittman 1984; Carter, R. et al.
2006; Potts and Roustaei [eds.] 2006; Potts et al. [eds] 2009; Moghaddam 2016).
The area stretching between the modern cities of Kazerun and Mamasani, in the
northern part of Fars, is situated along the Kazerun-­Qatar Fault, which remains tecton-
ically active and is known to have produced earthquakes and fractures at various points
in the past (Berberian et al. 2014). The Cretaceous limestone formations in these areas
are well developed, and this combined with the action of the Kazerun-­Qatar fault means
that karst develops easily, and there is thus an abundance of natural springs to support
human settlement (Roustaei et al. 2006: 17, 2009: 17). The same geological processes
have also produced faults at various points throughout the ranges of the Zagros, and
water flow has further eroded these faults, so that in many places deep gorges have
formed (Fisher 1968: 18; Roustaei et al. 2009: 17). Many of these faults and gorges
are currently used as passes that provide access between neighbouring plains, and they
likely served this function in the past (Roustaei et al. 2009: 17; see below).

EN VIRONMENT AND PAL AE O E NVIRO NM E NT

The extensive geographical expanse of ancient Elam encompasses a considerable
variety of environmental and climatic zones, with the upland and highland areas

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receiving markedly higher levels of annual precipitation than the areas of the central
and more southern part of the plateau and the lowlands of Khuzestan, which are all
significantly more arid (Ganji 1968; Petrie 2013a: 6; Potts 2016: 16–22). There is
also seasonal variation in temperature and vegetation cover, with the highland areas
having humid or semi-­humid forests, while the more arid zones have steppe or desert
vegetation (Bobek 1968; Petrie 2013a: 6).

Climate and climate change in the mid-­late Holocene

As a whole, the climate of the Iranian Plateau is largely controlled by its topogra-
phy and relative location to rain-­bearing air masses. Most of the variability in mean
annual temperatures across the plateau can be explained by latitude and altitude,
with all locations showing substantial seasonal differences between warmer summers
and colder winters. Average annual temperatures range from over 25°C in the south-
east to below 12°C in the northwest, but the difference between winter and summer
temperatures is over 25°C for much of the region (e.g. Jones 2013). Variation in
precipitation is slightly more complex and many studies (e.g. Modarres and Sarhadi
2011, Pourasghar et al. 2012) have discussed the spatial and temporal distribution
of rainfall across the plateau and the drivers of this variability. Total annual precip-
itation can reach over 1000 mm a year in the north, particularly around the shores
of the Caspian Sea, and is often less than 100 mm a year in the south. Precipitation
values are particularly low across the central desert basin due to the lee effect from
the Zagros and Elburz mountains in the west and north, respectively. The majority of
precipitation across the country falls in winter and spring (November through April),
with some spatial differences in the timing of precipitation maxima. Most of the
winter rain has a cyclonic source from the west, often via the Mediterranean, which
tracks down the Zagros or picks up additional moisture from the Caspian Sea before
falling. Spring rains fall in the northwest in particular, where northeasterly moving
depressions are blocked by high pressure over the Caspian (Domroes et al. 1998). In
the south, rainfall patterns can be additionally controlled by variability in the Indian
Ocean, for example, due to increased moisture flux during positive phases of the
Indian Ocean Dipole (Pourasghar et al. 2012).
There are presently four lake records that allow investigation of climatic change
through most of the Zagros through the last 4000 years (Figure 6.2). All four describe
a trend to generally more arid conditions since the mid-­Holocene (5,000 cal. BP). More
detailed reconstructions are constrained by sampling resolution, potential chronolog-
ical issues at the sites and the interpretation of the climate proxies (e.g. Jones et al.
2013), but general trends are discussed here with those caveats in mind.
The oxygen isotope curves from Parishan, Zeribar and Mirabad show minimum
values for the last 5,000 years somewhere in the second millennium BC, with extreme
values being later further south. All records then show a trend to more positive val-
ues, flattening off around AD 500. Despite similarities in trends, interpretations of
these records include changes in rainfall seasonality (Stevens et  al. 2001; 2006),
human activity in the catchment (Jones et al. 2015) and regional aridity trends. The
titanium record from Neor Lake in northwest Iran shows a more detailed record of
environmental change and suggests that the last 3,000 years were more arid than the
preceding 2,000 with the exception of the ‘4.2 event’ (Sharifi et al. 2015). The local

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Figure 6.2  Four palaeoclimate records from lakes in the Zagros over the last
5000 years. The records are shown in a north (top)- south (bottom) gradient and
include δ18O records from Lakes Mirabad, Zeribar (Stevens et al. 2006) and Parishan
(Jones et al. 2015) and the Ti record from Neor Lake (Sharifi et al. 2015).

impact of the 4.2 ka BP (c.2200 BC) event, and the preceding drought at 5.2 ka BP
(c.3200 BC), is difficult to establish in most of the palaeoclimate records from Iran,
though their climatic and cultural impacts are widely discussed for the wider region
(e.g. Staubwasser and Weiss 2006; Kuzucuoğlu et al. 2011). The Neor record makes
it clear that drought periods were not uncommon in the region through the mid-­to
late Holocene and also that many of these ‘events’ coincided with regional societal
shifts (Sharifi et al. 2015).

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Vegetation and biogeography

The areas of modern Fars and Khuzestan provinces mark the transition between
two major phytogeographical regions of southwest Asia: the Irano-­Turanian floristic
region, which is mostly found in the Zagros highlands; and the Saharo-­Sindian floris-
tic region, which is mostly found in the Zagros lowlands and Mesopotamian plains
(Figure  6.3a-­b). The Irano-­Turanian region is very rich floristically (>12,000 plant
species), with its highest diversity concentrated over the Iranian Plateau, including the
Zagros Mountains (Djamali et al. 2012). In Fars and Khuzestan, the Irano-­Turanian
region meets and interleaves with the Saharo-­Sindian region, and this biogeograph-
ical encounter produces a very rich diversity of plant species, with the simultaneous
presence of elements that originate from both regions. Moving from north to south
in Fars, the Irano-­Turanian to Saharo-­Sindian transition is best reflected by changes
in the composition of the forest and scrub communities.

Figure 6.3  Phytogeographical subdivision of Iran according to (a) Zohary (1973)

and (b) White and Léonard (1991). Note that the transition from Irano-­Turanian
flora to Saharo-­Sindian or Saharo-­Arabian/Sudanian flora occurs within the
ancient Elam; (c) shows the main vegetation types found in SW Zagros and
Khuzestan plain in the Elam territory.

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In Fars, deciduous oak woodlands cover the higher elevations of the Zagros (mainly
from 1000 to 2000 m; Figure 6.4a), which receive high annual levels of precipitation.
In the southern Zagros, the oak woodland is almost exclusively dominated by Brant’s
oak (Quercus brantii), the most resilient species of oak, which ranges in elevation from
1055 to 2550 m (El-­Moslimany 1986; Sagheb Talebi et al. 2014). In lower elevations,
oak is mixed with more xerophytic species, mainly pistachio (Pistacia atlantica subsp.
mutica), Montpellier maple (Acer monspessulanum), hawthorn (Crataegus spp.) and
wild pear (Pyrus glabra), and forms different forest communities (Figure  6.4b). In
still lower elevations that have drier conditions, pistachio is mixed with wild almond
(Amygdalus scoparia), a xerophytic shrubby species, and finally, with increasing dry
conditions, the latter tree becomes dominant, and pistachio and most of other decid-
uous broad-­leaved trees disappear from the landscape (Figure  6.4c). Moving still
further to the south/southwest, in the Saharo-­Sindian region, is the first savanna-­like
vegetation referred to as ‘pseudo-­savanna’ by Zohary (1973), which is characterized
by the presence of widely spaced woody species belonging to Acacia, Prosopis and
Ziziphus, which have very degraded understory vegetation (Figure 6.4d). Although
the northern limit of the Saharo-­Sindian region can be approximately considered as
the northern limit of these three tree species, some authors consider the northern limit
of the palm tree as a better boundary between the two regions (Djamali et al. 2011).

Figure 6.4  Examples of different vegetation types: (a) Zagros oak woodland,
(b) Oak-­pistacio woodland (road from Borujen to Lordegan), (c) Almond scrubs (near
Jahrom), (d) Saharo-­Sindian ‘pseudo-­savanna’ with Ziziphus spina-­christi scrubs (near Lar).

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Today, the palm tree can be cultivated as far north as the plain of Shiraz. The regions
that make up central and southern Elam have another phytogeographical particular-
ity in that they present a significant number of Mediterranean floristic elements – best
exemplified by isolated populations of Myrtle (Myrtus communis) and a number of
other woody and non-­woody species (Akhani and Deil 2012; Migliore et al. 2012).
This particularity further adds to the plant diversity of the region.
As noted above, the topography of ancient Elam is varied, such that in some cases,
two adjacent intermountain plains may have hundreds of meters of elevation differ-
ences. Such topographic differences have clear impacts not only on natural vegeta-
tion but also on the type of crops that can be grown. For example, the bioclimatic
conditions in the Lake Parishan Basin are more in favor of olive cultivation (plain of
Kazeroun: 820m), while more cold-­adapted trees like walnut are better adapted to
the Lake Maharlou basin (plain of Shiraz: 1450m) (Djamali et al. 2015). The great
heterogeneity in topography, bioclimate, soil type and floristic composition means
that ancient Elam had significant potential as a fertile agricultural zone suitable for
the cultivation of a range of different types of plants.
It is also important to note that modern populations also divide this landscape into
distinctive ecological zones that each have distinctive types of vegetation: the garmsir
or ‘warm land’, which are typically lowland areas that are hot in summer; the mo’ta-
del or temperate zone, which occupies the middle altitudes; the sardir or ‘cold land’,
which are highland areas that have cold winters, but are suitable for growing crops;
and the sarhad or the ‘land at the upper boundary’, which is typically only used for
grazing (Bobek 1968: 284; Alizadeh 2006: 94–95; Roustaei et al. 2009: 18; de Plan-
hol 2012; Potts 2016: 22–23). It has been argued that mobile pastoralist populations
played a specific role in the development of political complexity in Fars and the role
of the movement between these different ecological zones has been emphasised in this
process (e.g. Alizadeh 1988, 2003b, 2006, 2010; Sumner 1986b, 1988b; Alden 2013).
Although mobility and pastoralism across this extended zone was certain, the appro-
priateness of the term nomadic to describe these populations has been questioned (e.g.
Potts 2008, 2014; Weeks 2010; Weeks et al. 2010; Petrie 2011, 2013b).

NATURAL RESOURCES, R AW M ATE RIAL S AND

MOB IL ITY
As a whole, the Iranian Plateau hosts a diverse range of natural resources that were
important for the populations of greater Western Asia (Potts 1999, 2016; Algaze
2008; Wengrow 2010; Petrie 2013a). Within the geographical bounds of Elam, the
most significant of these were woods of numerous types (e.g. Potts 2016: table 2.9)
and different types of stone, particularly alabaster and limestone, and bitumen depos-
its also occur in various locations (Potts 2016: table 2.6). In the adjacent areas of
the Central Plateau, various metals were also available, including lead, silver, iron,
and perhaps most importantly, copper. These metals played a key role throughout
late prehistory and were obtained from outcrops in different locations, including
major sources at Anarak and Veshnoveh, and other sources in Kerman (Bazin and
Hubner 1969; Algaze 1993, 2005: Figure 35, 2008: 95; Pigott 1999a, 1999b; Pigott
et al. 2003; Frame 2004; Weeks 2008, 2012, 2013; Thornton 2009; Petrie 2013a: 6;
Helwing this volume).

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Communication and interaction throughout ancient Elam was largely via paths,
tracks and passes of differing length, which made use of the intermontane valleys
and plains, and the narrow geological faults and passes that link them. These routes
enabled people to traverse the plateau in different directions along specific corridors
and make up a network of interaction and communication that was used by people
moving between lowland and highland areas, into the interior of the plateau, and
also within each of these zones (Figure 6.1). These routes facilitated the movement
of wood, stone and metals obtained within and beyond Elam, and would have both
facilitated and constrained the spread of meanings and values, and ideas, technolo-
gies and, inevitably, people (Petrie 2013a: 7).
Detailed analyses of the topography of the southwestern Zagros between lowland
Khuzestan (Susa) and the highland Kur River Basin (Anshan) have identified at least six
major routes that were in common usage during the first millennium BC (Speck 2002:
16–18; 142ff.; Roustaei et al. 2009: 22). Three of these follow the same series of valleys
and passes that lead from Khuzestan via Ram Hormuz, Behbehan, Dogonbadan and
then into Mamasani, and it is there that they diverge and make use of different valleys
and passes in order to reach the Kur River Basin (Speck 2002: 16–18, 142ff.; Roustaei
et al. 2009: 22). Mamasani is also strategically located to act as a hub for routes to and
from Yasuj, Kazerun, Firuzabad and Bushehr, and thus facilitates the movement and
communication between the various regions that make up Elam (Roustaei et al. 2009:
23). There are additional routes from Khuzestan into the uplands to its immediate east,
which provide access to Izeh and Lordegan (e.g. Wright [ed.] 1979; Zagarell 1979,
1982; Potts et al. 2009: 1). There are also various routes to the north of Khuzestan that
provide access to the intermontane valleys of Luristan and the Central Western Zagros
(e.g. Weiss and Young 1975; Gopnik and Rothman 2011).

ARCHAEOLOGICAL AND HIS TO RICAL

CON CEP TIONS OF THE GE O G RAP HY O F E L AM
Southwest Iran was the home of the various Elamite polities and states that engaged
in warfare, political intrigue and trade with Babylonia and Assyria during much of
the Bronze and Iron Ages (c. 2200–500 BC), and was also the heartland of Persian
Empires ruled by the Achaemenid and Sasanian Dynasties (c. 539–330 BC and c.AD
205–638, respectively; Potts 1999, 2016; Potts et al. 2009). There are also clear signs
that the populations living in the lowland and highland regions that would subse-
quently comprise Elam were interacting with one another from the fifth and fourth
millennia BC onwards (Amiet 1979; Potts 1999, 2016; Alizadeh 2010).
As Potts has noted (1999: 8, 93ff., 2016: 2–6, 79ff.), the name Elam was used
somewhat imprecisely by Mesopotamian scribes from the third millennium BC
onwards to describe the regions and polities immediately beyond their southeast bor-
der. Although Susa was initially regarded as the heart of ancient Elam, a combination
of archaeological and epigraphic evidence has made it clear that Susa and its hin-
terland was but one of the major political centres in southwestern Iran, and that its
importance as a major centre fluctuated through time (e.g. Amiet 1979; Vallat 1980;
Potts 1999, 2016; Potts et al. 2009: 1). The highland Kur River Basin was the loca-
tion of the Elamite highland capital of Anshan, which is first referred to in the third
millennium BC, and continues to appear in inscriptions up to the Achaemenid period,

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though perhaps only as an apocryphal entity at that later date (Potts 2005; Henkel-
man 2011). The city of Anshan is definitively identified at Tal-­e Malyan, which is
situated at the northwest end of the Kur River Basin (Hansman 1972; Reiner 1973;
Sumner 1988a). This urban scale settlement had major phases of occupation in the
late fourth, late third and early second, and late second millennia BC, and during the
intervening periods, the occupation at the site was either drastically reduced or it was
entirely abandoned (Sumner 1988a, 2003; Nicholas 1990; Carter, E. 1996). The Ach-
aemenid king Cyrus II the Great established a new capital at Pasagardae (Stronach
1978; Askari Chaverdi and Callieri 2010), but during the reign of Darius, another
new capital was established at Persepolis, which is situated at the eastern end of the
Kur River Basin (Schmidt 1953; Sumner 1986a; Askari Chaverdi and Callieri 2012;
Askari Chaverdi et al. 2013).
It has been suggested that few of the valleys and plains in southwest Iran were
large and fertile enough to support a significant sedentary population with centralised
political organisation (e.g. Carter, E. 1994: 75; Miroschedji 2003: 18), though this
view was almost certainly based on limited understanding of the archaeology of the
regions in between the plains of Khuzestan and in the Kur River Basin, which is
constantly increasing (e.g. Stein 1940; Whitcomb 1971; Nissen 1976; Dittman 1984;
Wright and Carter, E. 2003; Potts and Roustaei [eds] 2006; Rezvani et al. 2007; Potts
et al. 2009; Alizadeh 2014; Askari Chaverdi et al. 2014; Moghaddam 2016).
Potts (2016) has noted that Mesopotamian and Elamite sources from various peri-
ods refer to different regions that make up the core of Elamite territory. For example,
third millennium BC texts refer to regions such as Sabum, Pashime, Shimashki and
Zabshali (Potts 2016: 125–129, Table 5.1), while the texts of the Persepolis Fortifi-
cation Archive make reference to toponyms within Persis (ancient Anshan) and Elam
(Potts 2009, 2016: 320; after Hinz 1973; Sumner 1986a; Aperghis 1999; Arfa’i 1999,
2008). By and large, we do not know the location of these regions, but there are
exceptions. For example, references to campaigns undertaken against Anshan by kings
from the Third Dynasty of Ur mention the region of Huhnur, and characterise it as
ʻthe key’ or ʻthe bolt’ to the land of Anshan (Hansman 1972: 117–118; Duchesne
1986; Potts 2016: 126, Table 5.1). Later texts (c. 1500 BC) from Haft Tepe refer to a
‘King of Huhnuri’ (Herrero and Glassner 1990: 14; Glassner 1991: 18), and Huhnur
is also mentioned in lists of areas conquered by Assurbanibal during his last campaign
against Elam (c. 647 BC) (Streck 1916: 50; Herzfeld 1968: 178; Potts 2005: 174,
2016: 196, 293; Petrie et al. 2005: 52; Potts 2009: 293; Potts et al. 2009: 3; Petrie
2010). Although there has been some debate about the precise find spot (e.g. Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2005; Steinkeller 2013; Alizadeh 2013), an inscription almost certainly
found in Ram Hormuz indicates that this region was the location of Huhnur (Potts
2016: 116). Ram Hormuz lies strategically on the major route between Susa and
Anshan, and the appellation ‘key’ or ‘bolt’ to the land of Anshan for such a location
makes some sense. Further research in these interstitial regions is likely to contribute
much to our comprehension of the archaeology and history of ancient Elam.

CONCLU S IO N
This relatively brief overview of the geography of ancient Elam has hopefully empha-
sised that the geology, landscape, climate, vegetation and human occupation of this

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historic entity was extremely variable. While lowland Khuzestan is geologically con-
tiguous with the plains of lowland Mesopotamia (Potts 2016: 19), it is also geo-
graphically distinct, having its own distinct hydrology, and it is also geographically
and culturally associated to the highland regions of Fars and the many intermontane
valleys that lay in the intervening region. The populations of ancient Elam dominated
this complex landscape for millennia, and it provided a power base sufficient for
them to create sizable political confederations, states and empires that were capable
of rivalling and even toppling powerful enemies such that they were able to dominate
much of the ancient Near East.

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 CHAPTER SEVEN

METALS AND MINING

Barbara Helwing

INTRODU CTIO N
The Iranian highlands are known for their rich metal resources which have sup-
plied crucial raw materials to emerging states in Western Asia since ancient times
(Figure  7.1). In the organisation of this supply system, the dichotomy between
highlands and lowlands that is so significant in Elamite history (Amiet 1986) plays
out: for a long time, lowland communities relied on materials travelling to them
from the highland sources. A second potential supplier would have been the dis-
tant coasts of Oman, where copper was mined and shipped via the Persian Gulf
to Mesopotamia and also to the coastal harbours of Khuzestan (Hauptmann et al.
1988; Prange et  al. 1999). To reconstruct a metal supply system for Elam over
time, we must combine evidence for the various steps of the metallurgical cycle
from the mining of ores to the final product and its distribution. We must keep in
mind that this evidence and its study are heterogeneous and patchy. On the supply
side, some detailed research into specific source areas exists, but the coverage is
uneven. A similar imbalance applies to the consumer side: a systematic archaeolog-
ical and metallurgical analysis of thousands of objects from the Louvre partition
of the Susa assemblage provides a fundamental overview for the older periods
(Tallon 1987; Malfoy and Menu 1987), while assemblages from major highland
sites remain little or understudied. With regard to workshops, direct observation
is rarely possible and we rely on residue distribution and indirect data, including
texts. A last note of caution is necessary with respect to the archaeological record
in Elam, which is characterised by a series of well-­documented periods alternating
with centuries of limited documentation. These latter periods are largely products
of the state of archaeological research and not real-­life gaps. This introduction to
metal production and use in the wider lands of Elam begins with a broad view
over Iran as a supply country that was fully integrated into a long-­distance contact
network in the proto-­Elamite period; subsequently, the perspective will narrow
and focus more specifically on the regions that define the ancient entity of Elam,
high and low.

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Figure 7.1  Map of Iran, showing known copper and silver deposits (data after Momenzadeh 2004b), and the
archaeological sites discussed in the text.
 — Barbara Helwing —

RESEARCH AND RE S O U RCE S

Iran as the now-­proverbial “heartland of metallurgy” (Pigott 1999) has seen some
targeted research on early metallurgy. Geological and mining archaeological explora-
tion was pioneered in the 1960s by the Wertime Pyrotechnological Expedition linked
to the Tal-­e Eblis excavations running at the same time in Kerman province (Wertime
1967; Arab and Rehren 2004). Geological field prospections were also conducted by a
French Mission in Iran and Afghanistan in the 1970s (Berthoud et al. 1976; Berthoud
et al. 1982), and other smaller explorations followed until this work came to a halt in
1979. A new field project initiated in 2000 has addressed the metallurgical systems of
western Central Iran from geology to the final product (Vatandoust et al. 2011).
From the perspective of artefact analysis, the exhaustive study of the Susa metal
objects hosted in the Louvre remains a major point of reference (Tallon 1987; Malfoy
and Menu 1987); while analytical protocol has advanced much since, the archaeo-
logical evaluation of the material remains unsurpassed. To this important body that
comprises the beginnings of metalworking until the end of the 3rd millennium BCE
can be added smaller studies on Elamite metal sculptures from Susa (Tallon, Hurtel,
and Drilhon 1989). Studies dealing with sites in the wider Elamite world largely
relied on samples collected during excavations in the 1960s and 1970s, some of
which were recently (re-­)studied (Thornton et al. 2002; Thornton et al. 2005; Frame
2004; 2009; 2010; Thornton 2009). Of these, only Tal-­e Malyan (Pigott, Rogers,
and Nash 2003a; 2003b) falls strictly within the lands of Elam; nevertheless, Godin
Tappe, Tappe Yahya, Tal-­e Eblis, Tappe Hesar and Shahdad are important points
of reference. In recent years, analyses of objects excavated by Louis Vanden Berghe
in Lorestan have provided important insights for archaeometallurgy (Fleming et al.
2005; Fleming et al. 2006); this body is currently being enlarged through new sam-
pling programs begun in Iran (Nezafati, Pernicka, and Momenzadeh 2009; Oudbashi
and Emami 2010; Rafiei Alavi 2012; Oudbashi et al. 2013; Oudbashi and Davami
2014; Oudbashi and Hasanpour 2016).
A last major source for understanding metal use in the Elamite world are texts;
most important of these are the Middle Elamite archives from Tal-­e Malyan (Stolper
1984) and from Haft Tappe (Herrero 1991; Herrero and Glassner 1990) that docu-
ment the distribution of quantities of metals to specific workshops and the commis-
sioning of metal works.

RAW MATE RIAL S

Sources of metal
The highlands of Iran form part of the Tethyan Eurasian Metallogenic Belt (TEMB)
that runs from the Balkans to Central Asia. It was formed through orogenic move-
ments, that is, by tectonics and magmatic events, going back at least one billion years,
resulting in different types of mineralisations. The orogenesis of the TEMB proceeded
through several distinct phases, each leaving specific geological formations. Different
host-­rocks hence contain mineralisations of copper, iron, silver and lead ores, and
gold. These major metals can occur together with other metals and non-­metallic ele-
ments like arsenic, tin, nickel, antimony and some others in polymetallic deposits.
These associations may have led to the unintentional production of natural alloys

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in the beginning, but systematic alloying practice is also attested since the 4th mil-
lennium BCE. From the point of view of pre-­industrial metal exploitation (Momen-
zadeh 2004a), only some ore mineralisations were attractive, while others were not
exploited when metal concentrations per ton of ore would have been too low or the
depth of the deposit too deep to be accessed in antiquity.
While highland Iran is rich in metal deposits, this is not true for the lands of Elam:
the coastal plain of Khuzestan naturally lacks metal, and the Alpidic formation of
the Zagros Mountains does not host copper or other metal ore deposits. Elam would
thus have relied on supplies from the neighbouring highland zones or from overseas.
There were copper deposits in the Sanandaj-­Sirjan area and close to the town of Arak
that seem to have provided copper to Lorestan, if not beyond.

Copper
Copper is the earliest used major base metal, and it remains dominant until the 8th
century BCE when it became successively replaced by iron. Sources for copper are
concentrated in the tertiary porphyry zones of highland Iran (following Momenzadeh
2004a): the Orumiyeh-­Dokhtar volcanic belt in south-­central and north-­central Iran,
along the southern foothills of the Alborz and in eastern Iran, is the most important
of these deposits, and early exploitation is attested in numerous zones. Ores occur
in two major forms: (1) in host-­rocks of andesite and basalt formed during eocene
submarine volcanism, occur mineralisations of chalcosite, copper oxides and some
metallic copper, mainly in the form of veins. The metal content in these veins is high,
but the size of the deposits is limited; such deposits would have been attractive in
ancient times but are not suitable for modern economic exploitation. (2) porphyry
and skarn deposits formed during late tertiary hydrothermal events host mineralisa-
tions and vein deposits of copper, gold and silver.
Of importance are also polymetallic mineralisations of copper, tin, tungsten and
gold, as they have been discovered in Deh Hossein in the Sanandaj-­Sirjan belt in the
Arak area. This deposit formed by cretaceous plutono-­metamorphic events, and sim-
ilar mineralisations exist also in central Iran, near Birjand and in northeastern Kho-
rassan. However, these have not yet been investigated for traces of ancient mining.

Ancient copper mining

Traces of ancient copper mining often fall victim to modern mining activities, and
modern prospectors rely often on traces of ancient mining in their field surveys. What
is known today of ancient mining is thus certainly not representative for ancient min-
ing activities but can nevertheless give us an indication of the technologies used. Two
major factors determine these technologies: the type of deposit, and the technology
known by the ancient miners.
Early mining (Stöllner 2014) first proceeded by open cast mining, that is, by dig-
ging up ores from the ground in open pits. Open cast mining would be efficient in
deposits that are close to the surface; therefore the technology alone is not a chrono-
logical indicator. Open cast pits are in some places still visible in the landscape, for
example, at the Deh Hossein polymetallic deposit in northern Lorestan (Nezafati,
Pernicka, and Momenzadeh 2006).

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The mining of vein deposits is mainly carried out by digging underground shafts
and galleries that follow the veins. To break the rock, the miners used a technique
called “fire setting”: the rock is first heated through a fire lit underneath and then
is rapidly cooled by pouring cold water over it (Weisgerber and Willies 2000). This
procedure cracks the rock and leaves characteristic concave traces on the remaining
rock. Fire setting was used from at least the 3rd millennium BCE to access under-
ground veins.
Miners furthermore used an array of tools to crack the rock: hammers and mallets
of hard stones like andesites or basalts were used in great quantities. Discarded min-
ing tools in gravels descending from slopes are a good indicator of ancient mining.
Stone tools like mortars or grinding stones are also used for the further beneficiation
of the ores.
Further processing of the ores took place in workshops, which were often located
at a distance from the mines and were probably chosen for a number of reasons, most
importantly the availability of fuel. With the appearance of domesticated donkeys as
pack animals in the 4th millennium BCE (Helwing 2011; Potts 2011), bulk trans-
port over greater distances became possible. Together with other crucial innovations
appearing in the proto-­Elamite period, new transport technology may have contrib-
uted to the apparent boom in the early metal industry in the Iranian highlands.
The best-­known copper and silver deposit in the Iranian highlands is the Anarak –
Talmessi zone of central Iran (Berthoud et al. 1976; Pernicka et al. 2011). Attempts to
link this deposit with textual references to the copper mountains of Kimash (Lafont
1996) mentioned by Gudea should, however, take into account that there are hun-
dreds of copper deposits known to this day, and many have yielded traces of ancient
workings. However, only few have been geochemically referenced, and even fewer
were investigated by mining archaeologists. Hence, the documentation of the Central
Iranian Veshnaveh mining district can be considered exemplary (Stöllner et al. 2011);
it attests to the systematic mining of copper in shafts and galleries following the ore
veins at least since the 2nd millennium BCE, if not earlier. A similar date applies to the
Deh Hossein open cast mines as far as these have been surveyed and tested (Nezafati
and Pernika 2011: 220).

Lead and silver

Silver occurs in association with lead and zinc in carbonate host rocks all over the
Iranian highlands and in the Zagros in the form of galena (lead sulfide) or cerrrusite
(lead carbonate). Iranian deposits are in modern times exploited for zinc but were
probably silver mines in antiquity (Momenzadeh 2004a: 16–18 and Figure 5). Alto-
gether, more than 35 sites with evidence for ancient exploitation are known today.
Extracting silver from argentiferous lead ores requires a refinement process to
separate the silver from lead: the ore is smelted and heated to a temperature much
above the melting point of silver; under oxidizing conditions, lead oxide (litharge)
forms and metallic silver is separated. This complex so-­called “cupellation” method
is attested in Iran since the 4th millennium BCE in Arisman and Tappe Sialk (Nezafati
and Pernicka 2006).
A by-­product of silver mining may have been kohl (Persian: sormeh), a black eye
cosmetic that could be produced from litharge (Momenzadeh 2004a). Lead was also

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the basis of a white cosmetic paste recently discovered as the content of a cosmetic
container in Shahdad (Vidale et al. 2012).

Gold
Gold occurs in Iran mainly in relation with porphyry copper deposits, and is mined
together with copper (Momenzadeh 2004a: 18 and map Figure 7). More than 100
occurrences of copper with associated gold are known. These mountain-­gold depos-
its require underground mining, and the retrieved ores had to be ground into a fine
powder. This could then be washed to let light-­weight elements be carried away and
the heavy gold would remain. Today gold is mined in 13 locations in Iran that all also
have documented traces of ancient exploitation.

Tin
Tin is also bound to the TEMB and occurs in considerable quantities east of Elam,
in Afghanistan and Central Asia (for the most recent overview see Thomalsky et al.
2013). It has long been assumed that these were the sources that provided tin to the
emerging states in western Asia from the later 3rd millennium BCE onwards. While
this model by and large remains valid for the bulk tin supply that was necessary
to sustain the Elamite bronze industry, the discovery of the polymetallic Deh Hos-
sein ancient mining district in northern Lorestan has for the first time also provided
potential evidence for exploitable tin resources in Iran. Radiocarbon dating indicates
the use of the Deh Hossein mines in the 2nd millennium BCE. Whether Deh Hossein
was indeed exploited for its tin, or rather its copper, remains to be tested. The recog-
nition of tin in Iran opens a new avenue of research into early tin bronze use in Iran
and Western Asia in general, as more such deposits can be expected in Central and
eastern Iran. The Deh Hossein ores would have been suitable for the production of
“natural” tin bronzes that would have stood out from normal copper by their silvery
colour, or could have been targeted for their tin content. However, given the size of
the deposit, the Deh Hossein mine could never have fully replaced imported tin that
came from afar, probably from the East via the Persian Gulf.

Iron
Iron is the fourth most frequent metal present in the earth’s crust and is found in
the porphyric and metamorphic formations that frame the central highland of Iran
(Momenzadeh 2004a: 18). The limiting factor in its exploitation was technological
knowledge rather than its availability. Evidence for iron working is still extremely
rare: E. Schmidt reported iron slag from Kamtarlan I, used as pavement material but
possibly also residue of a smelter (van Loon 1989: 16 Plot M, area 3 and room 1). In
NW-Iran, iron smelting slags were observed by G. Weisgerber in Andab Jadid, and a
date in the Iron Age II/III is suggested by radiocarbon dates (Stöllner 2004: 56; only
in the German version of text); however, neither Godin Tappe II nor Hasanlu IVB,
both excavated on a large scale, yielded evidence for on-­site production of iron. Since
iron occurs in the same formations as silver ores, it has been suggested that recorded
traces of iron mining may actually have targeted the silver (Momenzadeh 2004b: 18).

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T H E METAL INDUSTRY IN E L AM OVE R TIM E

Proto-­Elamite metallurgy
Proto-­Elamite metal production is currently best documented in Arisman in western
central Iran (Vatandoust, Parzinger, and Helwing 2011), where the complete chaîne
opératoire of metalworking is attested from primary smelting to the finished artefact.
The technology had developed in this area along the desert fringe of the Dasht-­e
Kavir throughout the Chalcolithic period with workshop contexts and cottage indus-
try attested, for example, in Ghabrestan, and evidence also from Tappe Sialk and
Arisman (Helwing 2013; Thornton 2014). Without any visible interruption in the
technology, metalworking then gained an unprecedented scale and momentum in the
last centuries of the 4th millennium BCE. In Arisman, large-­scale copper smelting
took place in furnaces located at the outskirts of the settlement; these furnaces were
built from mud-­brick and clay plaster, and had to be partly destroyed to extract the
metal. The smelting process was not yet very efficient and resulted in an enormous
amount of slag that still contained a considerable percentage of copper, altogether
amounting to 180 tons of slag (Steiniger 2011). Casting and finishing of copper
objects took place in workshops set up inside abandoned houses. The use of open
moulds or two-­piece flat moulds is attested for flat axes, and mechanical hammering
and annealing served to shape the final objects. Among the artefacts are mainly per-
sonal ornaments from proto-­Elamite grave contexts but also some tools like chisels.
From the casting moulds it is, however, evident that these sets are not representative
and that flat axes and ingots were produced as well. These objects seem to have cir-
culated in a wider exchange net, as evidenced by the occurrence of similar axes of a
comparable elementary composition in the piedmont area of the Zagros, up to the
Hamrin (Helwing 2013).
Analyses of the Arisman copper and copper slag indicates the systematic produc-
tion of arsenical copper, from which all copper artefacts at the site are made. It has
been proposed that this was a deliberate alloying process that involved in a first step
the production of arsenic speiss, which was then in a second step added to the mol-
ten metal to prevent the arsenic from volatilisation (Rehren, Boscher, and Pernicka
2012). However, other scholars maintain that natural arsenical copper ores might
have been used in a furnace that produced in the end a layered cake of metal of dif-
fering quality (Nezafati 2016).
Arisman is now also established as a major producer of silver by cupellation.
Attested largely through litharge and one lump of metallic lead as production resi-
dues, Arisman silver was used for jewelry: one silver pendant was found in a deposit
near the ground surface, probably a destroyed proto-­Elamite grave; it belongs to a
group of similar works distributed widely within the proto-­Elamite exchange net-
work (Helwing 2013).
The Arisman investigations considerably enrich our understanding of proto-­
Elamite copper working in other areas, as is also attested in Tal-­e Malyan (Pigott,
Rogers, and Nash 2003a; 2003b). Excavations at Malyan had not targeted specific
workshop areas, and areas TUV and ABC rather randomly contained residues of
metalworking, including copper prills from primary or secondary copper smelting.
Malyan material contained small but consistent amounts of arsenic alongside nickel
and antimony as trace elements, and it has been suggested that this arsenical copper

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might have been a natural alloy derived from ores of the Talmessi area. Working
seems to have taken place inside the large house complexes uncovered in areas TUV
and ABC, but these were not specialized workshop areas. Most artefacts are consid-
ered scrap metal for recycling, hence it remains to be determined whether a primary
industry had existed in Malyan at all during the proto-­Elamite/Banesh period.
In Susa IIIA, a large number of artefact analyses attests to the consistent use of
arsenical copper and also of other copper alloys, including lead-­copper with up to
15% lead used for cast objects (Tallon 1987: 316–320). Besides copper, lead, silver
and gold or natural electrum are attested. With a large number of artefacts, the Susa
record allows for a description of the techniques and typology used. Cold and hot
hammering and annealing are attested, and the majority of artefacts were small tools
and personal gadgets and ornaments. There are also a number of vessels that show
the development of metal sheet and chasing techniques, as well as repoussé whereby
the wall of the vessel is deformed from inside, which enabled the formation of three-­
dimensional figures. Complex objects were cast in the lost wax technique that had
appeared in western Asia in the late 5th millennium BCE (Roux, Mille, and Pelegrin
2013). In Susa lost wax casting was used for pins with complex figurative heads and
small sculptures cast in the round, like two anthropomorphic figurines found in the
vicinity of the High Terrace on the acropolis that date from the Uruk period (Tallon
1987: 307–308 no. 1320; Kargar and Loyrette 2001: 51, Figure 7). The same tech-
nique was also used for noble metals; for example, it was used for two dog pendants,
one in silver and one in gold (Tallon 1987: nos. 1161–1162).
Trace element analyses on the copper artefacts indicate a possible supply from the
Iranian highlands, possibly the Kashan – Tappe Sialk and Arisman region; another
possible source could once more be the Talmessi area. Silver was used in Susa for jew-
elry and artful vessels. Silver sheet pendants with soldered-­on casings for inlays are
found in original shapes (Tallon 1987: nos. 1159–1160); vessels made of silver repli-
cate forms known in ceramics such as spouted jugs. Some vessels, in particular small
conical beakers, were made from lead and seem to imitate silver vessels (Tallon 1987:
nos. 800–805). The Susa silver vessels and jewelry, however, only allow a glimpse at
an evolving industry, whereas the major production seems to be lost to science.
Lastly, use of metal is also attested from graves in Lorestan. Assemblages of metal
objects, including jewelry and weapons, are known from the Early Bronze Age grave-
yards in the high valleys excavated by Louis Vanden Berghe, like Kalleh Nisar and
Mir Khair (Haerinck and Overlaet 2005; 2008; 2010). Many of these graves were
used and re-­used over a long period of time, making any period-­specific statement dif-
ficult. Early tin bronzes are known from these graveyards, but no distinction between
early and late 3rd millennium BCE is possible (Fleming et al. 2005). However, it is
probably no coincidence that some of the earliest tin bronzes on record for Mesopo-
tamia occur in Kish (Helwing 2009) and hence not too distant from the polymetallic
mining district of Deh Hossein, which may have been exploited during early experi-
mentation with local ores.

THE 3 RD MILLE NNIU M B CE

After the collapse of the proto-­Elamite centers in the highlands, settled occupation is
maintained only in a few areas of highland Iran. The former metallurgical centers in

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the highlands like Arisman were fully abandoned around 2900 BCE, and no settled
occupation is attested in that area before the mid-­2nd millennium BCE. The same
is true for Malyan and southern Iran, although some continuity may have existed
there in less visible zones. Only in Susa can continuous settlement layers and a few
related graves be observed in phase Susa IIIB. The metallurgical record seems impov-
erished in comparison with the preceding period: gold and lead are not attested, silver
only occurs in small spirals and complex cast copper objects have disappeared. New
shapes are daggers and spearheads as well as curved knives that find comparisons in
the Hamrin ED I/II graveyards (Tallon 1987: 320–321). The material, insofar as it
has been analysed, continues to be made of arsenical copper, and it seems that Susa
still relied on supply from the Iranian highlands.
Around the 24th century BCE appear with phase IVA some new aspects in the
metal industry of Susa (Tallon 1987: 322–332) that are shared over a wider area
and that integrate impulses from the sumptuous burial culture of the southern Mes-
opotamian city states, in particular Ur. Some graves in Susa contained chariots like
those known from Ur, and the typology of copper vessels was also closely related.
Tin bronze makes a first appearance in Susa but at a much lesser scale (Tallon 1987:
333–335) than at Ur, where it makes up about 40% of the copper-­based objects in the
cemetery. At Susa, the majority of the assemblages was still dominated by arsenical
bronzes and this remained so into the 2nd millennium BCE. Noteworthy is a hoard
of tin bronze drinking vessels from the famous “vase à la cachette”, dating to the very
end of Susa IVA (Tallon 1987: 329 Figs. 53; 54; 333), that corroborates the impres-
sion that tin bronze use was then reserved for members of the elite.
A second avenue for influence on the Susa IVA industry is exchange with south-
eastern Iran, where urban centers had emerged around the same time that the proto-­
Elamite central highland sites were abandoned. Shahr-­e Sukhte, Shahdad and the
Jiroft region yielded a rich record of metal objects, mainly from graves (Hakemi
1997; Piperno and Salvatori 2007; Pittman 2013). Shahdad and Shar-­e Sukhte also
yielded slags and ores, evidence for primary copper working. It has been proposed
that ovens excavated in the “craftsmen’s quarter” site D in Shahdad were ancient cop-
per furnaces (Hakemi 1992), but this reconstruction remains highly doubtful, as the
kilns closely resemble domestic ovens known from settlement sites of the Bactrian-­
Margiana Archaeological Complex (BMAC), for example, in Gonur Depe (Boroffka
2015: Figure 4). While the site was certainly a primary production site, we have to
rely largely on analyses of slags and of artefacts. Finds from the various graveyards
are highly distinctive and comprise objects of arsenical copper and of silver, and to a
much lesser extent of gold. Most characteristic are cast objects, like decorated tube-­
shaped maceheads (Hakemi 1997: type Go. 4) or magnificent decorated axe heads
(Hakemi 1997: type Gp. 8, Gp. 9); also famous are metal basins with hollow animal
figures in repoussé (Hakemi 1997: Gs. 4–7). Cast copper stamp seals of BMAC type
allude to the distinct cultural influences that all leave a mark on the local record
(Hakemi 1997: type Ia).
These urban centers of southeastern Iran developed in lockstep with the later ED
period in Mesopotamia and with Susa IVA. Although strictly speaking outside of
the sphere of Elamite interest, they are noteworthy for having maintained a primary
metal industry based on arsenical copper. In between southeastern Iran and Susa,
only a few related assemblages are known, but these are of high significance for the

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relations between the two regions: some leitfossils from Shahdad, in particular dag-
gers with long, flat tang and drooping shoulders (Hakemi 1997: Gq. 1–3) find a direct
comparison in the recently excavated graveyard Deh Dumen in the Kohgiluyeh-­Boyer
Ahmad province (Oudbashi, Naseri, and Malekzadeh 2015). However, the vessels
analysed from Deh Dumen are made from tin bronze with up to 15% of tin, unlike
the Shahdad materials that only use arsenic bronze. This pattern indicates that the
two sites participated in different supply networks for copper and tin.
When the Akkadian kings began expanding their territory and integrated Susa at
least temporarily into their administration (Susa IVB), the previously existing sphere
of shared styles and technologies across the Persian Gulf and the Iranian highlands
disappeared. Those urban centers of southeastern Iran that continued to exist turned
towards the Persian Gulf and the Indus. From a metallurgical point of view, these
centres maintained an industry based on arsenical copper well into the 2nd millen-
nium BCE. This observation remains somewhat puzzling, as the tin sources that were
tapped into for supply of tin to the Mesopotamian states lay in the East, and most
probably in Afghanistan, hence were spatially close. Possibly the tin supply to the
emerging Mesopotamian states was rather negotiated through oversea trade. This
was certainly the case when the Akkadian expansion reached out to distant regions
of raw material supply, most ostentatiously by using imported black diorite or gab-
bro from Magan, modern Oman, for major monuments. This same supply area was
then probably also used for a supply in copper, which was difficult to obtain from the
notoriously unruly mountain people.
For Susa, the integration into Akkadian administration in phase IVB had repercus-
sions in its material record (Tallon 1987: 337–339), and Susa’s immediate hinterland
seems to have participated in this shift. Forms and types were now strongly oriented
toward Mesopotamian models, as is best evident from new types of battle axes whose
prototypes we recognize in the Akkadian pictorial record. However, unlike the situ-
ation in Mesopotamia, it seems that the Susa IVB metal industry saw little technical
innovation and had limited access to raw materials, both copper and alloying agents.
A text from Susa provides a guideline for bronze alloying by adding one part of tin to
eight parts of copper (Limet 1972; Tallon 1987: 339), however, tin bronze remained
a rare material until the 2nd millennium BCE, and existing bronzes have minimal tin
contents. Only two objects, both obviously prestige items, are exceptions to this rule:
the battle axe of Ilish-­mani with 5.9% tin and another axe with a ridged neck and a
tin content of 4.9%. This uneven distribution corroborates the model that tin bronze
was probably still reserved for prestige users as before in the “vase à la cachette”
hoard. The only major innovation of period IVB is the introduction of silver as a
currency, which aligns Susa with the administrative habits of the Akkadian state (Sal-
laberger 2013).
In the subsequent Susa V period (Ur III-Shimashki), the formerly unbalanced sit-
uation seems to have rapidly evened out (Tallon 1987: 340–352). Tin bronze has
now become more common, in particular for weaponry. Some exceptional trace ele-
ment compositions, for example, copper with antimony, also point to distant sources
from where material was probably imported. Other unusual trace elements are
lead, nickel and iron, and arsenic also appears, sometimes in high amounts. These
unusual mixtures may indicate a fairly high degree of recycling. Susa V also witnessed
some important technical innovations: a new method to create a strong connection

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between a dagger blade and handle is “casting-­on”, whereby a handle is cast in a clay
mould that has been formed around the already existing blade tang; by pouring liq-
uid bronze into this mould, the blade surface also melts and forms solid metal bonds
with the handle material. The use of soldering as a technique to connect pieces of
bronze relies on the same principle, and its discovery could be related; soldering had
previously been observed only on silver jewelry in the proto-­Elamite period.
The Susa V metal industry was embedded in a strictly urban setting with fully reg-
ulated administrative activities. The building undertakings of the Ur III kings at Susa
made use of the same types of standardized foundation figures that are known from
other monuments in Mesopotamia. Sixteen “basket bearers” inscribed with the name
of Shulgi were found in Susa, eight each in the Inshushinak and in the Ninhursag
temple (Rashid 1983: 32–165, Pl. 33; Tallon 1987: nos. 1321–1336, 308–310). These
figures are solid casts that derive from two-­valve moulds; some still have a burr visi-
ble around the outer contour of the figurine. However, they are all slightly different,
which may indicate that they were indeed made in lost wax technique but that the
wax model was cast in a mould and then finished by a different hand. It can only be
speculated whether this technique may have influenced the change in the production
of clay figurines as well, by introducing the use of unilateral clay moulds that stan-
dardised the treatment of the figurines (Spycket 1992: 54).
Bronzes from phase Susa V are largely found in graves, so the record must be con-
sidered biased. The assemblages contain objects of local production and types that
link to Mesopotamian prototypes as well as materials related typologically to pro-
ductions in either Lorestan or the distant East. A hammer axe inscribed in Sumerian
with the name of the Ur III king Shulgi was certainly produced in the wider BMAC
area, where the distinctive zoomorphic design was at home, and was used as a votive
offering (Amiet 1966: 243 no. 176). A more likely Susian production is a distinctive
axe type with a baroque inflated shaft named type “Attahushu” following the inscrip-
tion on one such axe found in the Ville Royale at Susa (Tallon 1987: nos. 46–65).
A major component of the Susa V metal production was jewellery. While the
record is certainly exaggerated due to the high number of grave inventories in this
phase, it is nevertheless obvious that the Susa gold and silversmiths accomplished
new forms and techniques during this time (Tallon 1987: 350). Golden pieces are
often, in fact, electrum with 15 to 40% silver, which may indicate usage of placer gold
imported from the East. The jewellery shapes stand out by their clear and elegant
shaping, but the craftsmanship remains rather sloppy and sometimes merely imitates
techniques established in Mesopotamia. For example, gold filigree and granulation
were imitated in relief form.
This extensive discussion of Susa’s metal industry and its wide-­ranging contacts is
necessarily biased, as the contemporary record for highland Fars in the Kaftari period
remains fairly patchy. From the Tal-­e Malyan excavations, only a handful of objects
was retrieved, mainly rods or scrap metal (Carter 1996: 34–35). Six of the ten objects
contain tin (Pigott, Rogers, and Nash 2003), which indicates that Malyan, like Susa,
participated in a network that received its supply via the Persian Gulf trade.
The situation is different for the western Zagros in the late 3rd millennium BCE,
at which time the rugged highland terrain of Lorestan and Ilam can be identified with
Awan and Shimashki, home of the first Sukkalmah rulers of Susa. A highly original
style of metalwork emerged there in the late 3rd millennium BCE, the beginning of

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a tradition that would last into the Iron Age. Unfortunately, many graves containing
the so-­called Lorestan bronzes have fallen victim to looting,1 but the excavations by
Louis Vanden Berghe have yielded invaluable information from documented contexts
for the later Early Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Elemental composition analysis of
some of his finds initially located the Early Bronze Age metal work from Lorestan
squarely within the overall picture of a regulated Mesopotamian metal industry with
access to tin bronze (Fleming et al. 2005). Lead isotope analysis, however, contradicts
this finding and seems to indicate local supply systems based on sources in northern
Lorestan in the Arak region (Begemann et al. 2008: 38). Arsenical copper was also
still in use, and some objects were cast from lead-­copper alloys.

THE 2ND MILLE NNIU M B CE

The masterful study of F. Tallon and her colleagues on the Susa metals ends with Susa V
(Tallon 1987, although some anecdotical 2nd millennium materials are included in
the catalogue), hence before Elam came into being as a political player. This end date
can be explained by the major interest of archaeometallurgists in questions of early
supply systems and alloy practices, which are assumed to have been less significant
in later periods when a high degree of recycling and mixing should be taken into
account (although this too requires systematic testing). This by no means reflects an
ancient reality, since Susa and Elam remained a major broker in the long-­distance
tin trade, which became ever more important (Reiter 1997: 213–239 on tin traffic
according to 2nd millennium BCE texts). Susa has been the scholarly focus of Elamite
studies, with attention directed largely to sculpture and works of figurative art (Tal-
lon, Hurtel, and Drilhon 1989; Amiet 2006) and no longer to mundane artefacts and
technologies. A  notable exception is the recent study of daggers from Haft Tappe,
which combines typological and analytical methods (Rafiei Alavi 2012). Hence, for
the major part of Elamite history in the 2nd and 1st millennium, we have only selec-
tive studies of individual or just a few metal objects at our disposal, a situation made
worse by the gaps in the archaeological record of the highlands.
The first excavator of the Middle Elamite site of Haft Tappe (c. 1500–1300 BCE)
claimed that scant metal finds had been preserved, as the city was raided before it
was sacked around 1300 BCE (Negahban 1991: 45–46). This provides a misleading
impression, as a recent study lists about 900 metal artefacts from the site.2 Many
metal objects were found in the workshop area of terrace complex I next to a pottery
kiln; the excavator assumes that this kiln served alternatively for firing ceramics and
for working metal. Several bronze ingots were found alongside a pile of arrowheads,
some daggers and spearheads (Negahban 1991: 46–48 nos. 207–215, Pls. 30–31).
Recent scientific analyses of the daggers, which are characterised by lunate-­shaped
guards forming the connection between hilt and blade, revealed that the guard was
created through a complex process of casting-­on onto a previously cast blade (Rafiei
Alavi 2012). Among the axes found at Haft Tappe, one was identified as iron at
the time of excavation (Negahban 1991: 47), but the finds were not submitted to
analysis. Haft Tappe also yielded examples of decorative and prestige items. One
is a massive shafthole axe inscribed with the owner’s name in Elamite (Negahban
1991: 48 no. 217; Pl. 31, color Pl. 3A). Others are furniture and wall decorations,
like two silver tubes (Negahban 1991: 113–114, Pl. 56) discovered in front of a door

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to terrace complex I, probably belonging together as end fittings of a wooden rod.

A small bronze plaque with high relief and repoussé showing a ritual scene (Negah-
ban 1991: 114 no. 481; Pl. 56) was collected from the environs of terrace complex I.
Late Middle Elamite Chogha Zanbil was largely deserted after the 11th cen-
tury, although a modest settlement continued to exist on the site. The metal objects
remained there in the temples together with other votives, and a number of metal
weapons with inscriptions have been discovered in and around the Kiririsha temple.
A decorative battle axe head dedicated by king Untash-­Napirisha to the two Elamite
deities, Napirisha and Ishnikarab, discovered in the Kiririsha temple is an interesting
example for the artful combination of different metals, silver and electrum (Amiet
1966: 358 no. 265): the axe has an asymmetrical shaft that ends in the head of a
lion holding the axe blade in its wide-­open mouth. The neck of the axe is adorned by
a three-­dimensional figurine of a crouching boar made of electrum. The hatchet of
Untash-­Napirisha as well as many other objects, for example, a spade-­shaped object
with a joint between shaft and spade in the shape of a serpent’s head discovered in a
chapel northwest of the ziqqurat and identified with the symbolic spade of Marduk
(Amiet 1966: 359 no. 266), demonstrate the potential of casting-­on technology to
safely combine different pre-­fabricated modules, and hence also to join together dif-
ferent alloys and metals. This procedure allows the selection of materials best suited
for specific purposes, like durable dagger blades versus soft but easy-­to-­decorate han-
dles. It also provides possibilities for deliberately combining materials of different
colours.

S TATUETTES F ROM D E P O S ITS O N THE

ACROPOLIS O F S U S A
For the 2nd millennium BCE, two groups of statuettes from the acropolis of Susa are
important; proposed dates range from the early 2nd millennium to the 12th century
BCE and the Middle Elamite period.3 One group comprised 26 copper and bronze
statuettes of mixed date, some going back to the early 2nd millennium (Tallon, Hurtel,
and Drilhon 1989). The deposit was found underneath a Middle Elamite pavement
close to the Inshushinak temple and was henceforth dubbed “Inshushinak deposit”
(de Mecquenem 1905a). Most figurines are shown in a gesture of adoration and
therefore the complex has been interpreted as a hoard of abandoned temple inven-
tory; however, other scholars advocated its interpretation as a temple foundation
deposit. The second group comes from a real hoard discovered in the cult precinct
halfway between the ziqqurat and the Inshushinak temple (de Mecquenem 1905b).
With its splendid objects, which included a solid figurine of silver and another of
gold, as well as faience figurines, carnelian beads and a lapis lazuli dove, the hoard
became known as “trouvaille de la statuette d’or”. It has been proposed that these
objects may have formed part of the inventory of a treasury associated with the royal
funerary cult, a suhter (Grillot 1983). As is the case with the above-­mentioned hoard,
not all objects must date to the same time, and it has been suggested that the silver
and gold figurines may be as old as the early 2nd millennium BCE (Pittman 2003).
In the Inshushinak group is a figurine of a deity seated on a chair in the shape of
a coiled serpent and surveyed by three upright serpents from behind (de Mecquenem
1905a: Pl. XVIII, 1; Tallon, Hurtel, and Drilhon 1989, no. 3). Despite a mediocre

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state of preservation, the deity’s long layered skirt is in line with standard iconogra-
phy of the early 2nd millennium BCE, while the emphasis on serpents refers to the
Elamite pantheon. The figure has been cast in the lost wax technique from a rather
pure, un-­alloyed copper. This choice of material sets it apart from the other objects
in the group.
The other figurines in the Inshushinak deposit are humans in postures of worship
or bearing offerings (see Figure  7.2). They differ in size and iconography but also
quality of the representation. As a rule, these figurines were cast in one piece, but
some have detached arms. A  few pieces with some detail are produced as hollow
casts; this sophisticated technique correlates with the use of alloys, copper with either
tin or lead or both, indicating that the ancient craftsmen were aware of how to
improve casting behaviour by using alloys; however, alloys were also used for solid
casts, and with the small sample size no clear robust correlation between alloys and
techniques can be determined.
Two figures from the Inshushinak hoard stand out by their quality of representa-
tion (Tallon, Hurtel, and Drilhon 1989, nos. 5, 12). One shows a worshipper with
a raised hand and a long skirt (Figure 7.2, centre). His hair protrudes far over his

Figure 7.2  Anthropomorphic figurines from Susa, 2nd millennium BCE,

as an example of casting in lost wax technique (Courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).

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forehead in a typical Elamite fashion. The other figure bears a dove as an offering;
he has a shaved head and a long, dotted skirt (Figure 7.2, left). Together with a third,
broken figurine, these are the only examples of hollow casting in the hoard. Interest-
ingly, all three figures differ in their composition: the offering bearer is made from
un-­alloyed copper, while the worshipper is cast from tin bronze, and the fragmented
figurine is made from a lead-­copper alloy.
The offering bearer from the Inshushinak deposit closely resembles the two solid
figurines from the “trouvaille de la statuette d’or” (Figure 7.3) (de Mecquenem 1905b:
Pl. XXIV). One is made of gold with some 6.5% silver and 1% copper; the other is of
silver with traces of gold, copper and zinc (Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 146–148
Nos. 89, 90, F. Tallon). Both are mounted on a rather irregular piece of copper and
both are shown carrying an animal and wearing a long, dotted skirt with fringes at
the hemline. They differ in gesture and in particular in their hairdo, as they have a
beard and wear a braid over their head, which may identify them as royal figures.
Both figures were cast in the round in the lost wax technique.
Gesture and garment as well as the purity of its material link the god figurine from
the Inshushinak deposit to three other deity images from Susa. All these deities are
dressed in layered garments and wear the typical horned crown. One figurine is part
of a composition, with the god seated like a rider on a chariot that has been cast sep-
arately from copper of a different origin. One standing god has his left hand covered
in gold sheet, probably the residue of an original gold plating of the complete figu-
rine (Tallon 1987: 310 no. 1337). Such sheet gilding procedures were widely applied

Figure 7.3  Statues of worshippers in solid gold (right) and silver (middle and left) from the
so-­called trouvaille de la statuette d’or at Susa (Courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).

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to sculptures made from less expensive material like wood. A silver “mask” found
together with two silver hands also on the acropolis (de Morgan 1905: Pl. VII) may
have belonged to such a wooden statue.4 The silver mask is a good example of how
materials could be combined, as the eyes were inlaid in ivory. From the same cache
came two “wigs”, probably parts of composite figurines, that combine frit and gold,
or frit and bronze (de Morgan 1905: Pl. VIII, IX).
The two figurines from the “trouvaille de la statuette d’or” are fixed to their sup-
port by a rod described as “anchor-­shaped”. Others have simple rods indicating that
they were once fixed onto a support; some figurines are shaped as if to fit a support;
we can therefore assume that many of these small figurines did not serve as an end
in themselves but adorned practical equipment like chariots or pieces of furniture.

M ORE METAL F ROM THE D E P O S ITS O N THE

ACROPOL IS
Numerous small hoards of valuables and scrap gold and silver were found on the
acropolis in the zone of the Inshushinak temple foundations (de Mecquenem 1905a).
Stratigraphic control is poor, and the distinction between the Ur III temple founda-
tion and the Middle Elamite temple remained doubtful in many instances, but a good
number of the objects belong to the Middle Elamite period. Besides the bronze figu-
rines already described above, a wealth of small-­scale metalwork, including golden
sun discs and inscribed gold sheet fragments, was discovered. Among the “trouvaille
de la statuette d’or” objects was also a golden whetstone finial in the shape of a lion’s
head with fine granulation (de Mecquenem 1905b: Pl. XXIV). A gilded dragon head
made of silver (de Mecquenem 1905a: Pl. XIII, 1a-­b) has not been subject to an
examination of the technique used.

MONUMENTAL S CU L P TU RE
With the development of hollow casts in the 3rd millennium BCE, most famously
attested through the copper head of an Akkad ruler found at Nineveh (Strommenger
1962: Pl. XXII-XXIII), size limitations on bronze sculpture had been overcome and
the only remaining limitation was the available amount of copper/bronze. In Elam
a life-­size sculpture is attested in the Middle Elamite period, when some of the most
spectacular metal sculptures were made in Susa (de Morgan 1900a; de Morgan
1900b). Some sculptures were exceptionally large and heavy; they were cast in com-
plex procedures that are best studied in the famous statue of Napir-­Asu (see below)
and a related fragment. We can only assume that despite these spectacular finds,
much material is missing from the record: Many objects show traces of heavy mutila-
tion, probably inflicted when Susa was defeated and sacked by the Assyrians.
The largest piece of bronze sculpture found in Susa during the excavations of de
Morgan on the Susa acropolis in the area of the Ninhursag temple is the statue of
Queen Napir-­Asu (Figure 7.4) (Lampre 1905; Amiet 1966: 340, 372 no. 280; Amiet
1988: 97–98 Figure 57; Spycket 1981: 313–314 Pl. 204; Harper, Aruz, and Tallon
1992: 132 no. 83; Potts 1999: 218–220 Pl. 7.3), wife of Untash-­Napirisha, who com-
missioned the construction of the ziqqurat at Chogha Zanbil. The inscription names
the queen and ends with a curse formula that evokes the Elamite deities Napirisha,

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Figure 7.4  Middle Elamite Statue of Queen Napir-­Asu from Susa

(Courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).

Kirisisha and Inshushinak. It is the only monumental metal sculpture from Elam
surviving almost intact, although the head and most of the left arm were removed in
antiquity. This treatment of statues was not exceptional, since another fragment of
a life-­size statue in the Louvre museum (Amiet 2006) seems to have belonged to an
even larger statue of better execution. The Napir-­Asu statue is a standing female with
hands crossed before the body in a posture reminiscent of the earlier worshipping
figures. It is preserved to 1.29 m height (up to shoulder level) and weighs 1.75 tons.
Examinations of the statue (Lampre 1905; Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 132–
135 no. 83, by F. Tallon, see 135 footnote 11; Meyers 2000) provide detailed insight
into the complex casting process. The statue consists of an outer shell and a solid core
of copper which are significantly different in composition: the outer shell consists of
copper with some trace elements and about 1% tin; the core is cast of bronze with
11% tin. The two types of metal differ in their melting points: the copper from the
outer shell melts at a much higher temperature than the tin bronze of the core. Cast-
ing Napir-­Asu followed a multiple-­step process: first, a core was constructed from
small clay bricks, and fired; then the core was embedded in wax and sculpted, with
solid arms and hands, and the major elements of the garment decoration were laid in.
A metal plug on the top had been planned to accommodate a core pin to mount the
separately cast, now lost, head. Copper chaplets were inserted through the wax into
the clay core, and then this model was encased in clay. The wax was molten and a

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cavity left behind to be filled with copper. In a next step, the clay core was removed,
the copper shell turned upside down and the interior filled with consecutive casts of
tin bronze. Further work steps would include the removal of grates, polishing and
decorating. The copper of the outer shell is physically softer than the bronze used for
the core, facilitating the chasing and punching of the details of the garments. It may
also have helped to fix a gold foil wrapped around the statue in a way similar to the
gold plating observed on smaller statues; the existence of a long vertical groove on
both sides of the statue may indicate original plating for this piece as well. The solid
bronze core remains a puzzle as it appears a remarkable waste of valuable material. It
has been speculated that it helped to stabilize the (over-­) fragile shell (Amiet 2006) or
served to hide valuable material (Meyers 2000) and safeguard it from potential loot-
ing: in Mesopotamia, valuable materials were turned into temple inventory as a way
to obtain divine protection for this material that was calculated according to weight,
not according to the skill of craftsmanship. A second, but equally hypothetical alter-
native is that this core contained material recycled from a war booty of weapons that
had been made from high-­quality tin bronze.
Other extraordinary bronze works are two giant cylinders with inscriptions by
Shilhak Inshushinak, each 4.36  m long, discovered in 1901 on the acropolis (de
Mecquenem 1980: 14). The same king ordered the making of a bronze plate with a
complex figurative cult scene that was found during excavations at the acropolis of
Susa (Gautier 1911), not far from Napir-­Asu’s statue. This model, called Sit-­Shamshi,
shows two kneeling men involved in a ritual (Figure 7.5). They are surrounded by cult
paraphernalia, men and objects rendered as three-­dimensional models attached to a
flat plinth. X-ray investigations allow the production process to be detailed (Harper,
Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 137–141 no. 87 Figure 43; F. Tallon, analyses F. Drilhon): the

Figure 7.5  Model of a Middle Elamite ritual scene from Susa, so-­called sit-­shamsi
(Courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).

135
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bronze plinth was cast upside down in a mould together with some solid modules.
The figures of the two men had been cast separately beforehand and were joined to
the model by casting-­on the plate. Some larger objects like the basins and pillars were
cast together with the plate; the altars, jars and trees were cast separately and secured
with pins. The trees and other objects, some lost today, were fixed with rivets. The
material used is low tin bronze, with a slightly higher tin amount in the elements cast
separately like the altars. One side of an altar preserves residue of silver, indicating
that possible silver and gold foil was originally added to the model for a colour effect.
A few more cast monumental bronzes were found in Susa. Among them are the
“serpent table”, a fragmented table of bronze framed by two large uncoiled snakes,
surrounded by a row of five standing figures holding vessels before them in a posture
comparable to that of the figures on the façade of the reconstructed Inshushinak
temple (de Morgan 1900a). This table has variously been called an offering table
or an altar cover. A fragment of a cast bronze vessel with high relief may originally
have been covered by gold sheet as the finishing of the copper surface is rather rough
(Amiet 2006, 74). The same may have been true for a fragment of a bronze stele
from the acropolis mound (de Morgan 1900b) whose original size cannot be recon-
structed. It is organised like a stone stele in registers, the main register showing a
row of seven divine warriors.5 An inscription in Elamite has been inserted between
the figures of the main frieze. No technical investigation has been carried out, but it
seems the plate was cast solidly from the back, and the botanical decoration of the
lower register was punched.

MIDDLE ELAMITE TE X TS
With all the large-­scale monumental pieces just listed, we may be able to gain a better
understanding of the amount of material that was originally in circulation and also
how much has been lost over time. This is best exemplified by the situation at Middle
Elamite Malyan, known from the excavations in area EDD on the highest part of the
mound where a monumental building was partly exposed (Carter 1996). Although it
is evident that this is a building of monumental scale, only very few metal items were
found there in layers IV and III; no evidence for metal production is recorded either,
as any workshop would have been located away from the elite residence. However,
the building contained the scattered remains of an archive of texts recording accounts
and recipes for metalworking (Stolper 1984). As one of the major texts names the
Elamite king Huteludush-­Inshushinak, a date around 1100 BCE for the corpus is
realistic. Texts belonging to a different archive dealt with animal hides and food,
which indicates a spatially differentiated administration for individual crafts. The
metal-­related tablets are written in Elamite but use Akkadian loan words, for exam-
ple, for copper and bronze. The tablets are written following a standard formula:
first the relevant metals and their respective weight are listed, then orders are made
for objects to be made from the metal, mostly figurines, rosettes and door embel-
lishments for temple adornment. The tablets end by naming the administrator and a
date formula. The amounts of material listed vary widely and for gold run from 1 to
1,445 shekel and for copper/bronze from 2.5 to 3,600 shekel; the total copper/bronze
transactions recorded add up to 36,000 shekel, a little more than 300 kg (Stolper
1984: 10). This provides us a glimpse at the amount of material that went into the

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lavish decoration of temples and palaces; it also reminds us of how much archaeo-
logical evidence we are missing. The texts from Haft Tappe, once fully read (Herrero
and Glassner 1990; 1991; 1993; 1996), will probably provide a similarly impressive
picture of the amounts of metal in circulation during the Middle Elamite period.

IRON
Worked iron occurs in Iran occasionally from the Late Bronze Age onwards, but it
becomes more widespread only in the Iron Age II from the 10th to the 9th century
BCE (Pigott 1977; 1980; 1989; Overlaet 2003: 150–151); initially, the majority of
objects are decorative items and jewellery such as bracelets and rings. In weaponry,
bronze was used for arrowheads alongside iron well into the 8th century BCE. Only
in Iron Age III did iron become the material of choice for armament, while bronze
remained in use for decorations and sheet metal objects that required chasing and
repoussé. Iron was hence not used at first for any physical properties of the material,
and most probably these were not known yet: to take advantage of the strength of
iron, the material must be forged into steel; low-­carbon wrought-­iron objects would
be at best equivalent to tin bronze in their efficiency as long as the technology of steel
production had not yet been developed. As indicated by the recurrent usage of iron
for objects of personal adornment in the early phase, the material seems then to have
carried a certain prestige, at least during the early periods of its use.
No workshops are known up to today, just a few slag fragments (see above, iron),
and the only evidence for the introduction of iron are the artefacts proper. From Iron
Age II onwards appear bi-­metallic artefacts: pins with a figurative bronze head and
an iron shaft, or daggers with iron blades and a bronze hilt. It has been remarked
that the technology behind the production of bi-­metallic daggers was unusually com-
plicated, as it remained difficult to unite two such different materials in one object.

ROYAL TOMB S WITH J E W E L L E RY AND

METALWO RK
The dearth of settlement sites for the Neo-­Elamite period that results by necessity in
a lack of metal finds in the archaeological record is balanced out by the discovery of
three extraordinary assemblages of the last decades of the Neo-­Elamite occupation.
Two are funerary constructions found by accident in Jubaji (Shishegar 2015) and
in Arjan (Alizadeh 1985; Álvarez-­Mon 2010), both in the Ram Hormoz area; these
burial chambers contained bronze coffins in the shape of bathtubs, and a wealth of
jewellery (e.g. the gold animal-­headed terminal bracelet in Figure  7.6) and luxury
vessels made of gold and electrum, silver and bronze; the third is a complex of sil-
ver vessels and other objects allegedly from the Kalmakarre Cave (Bashash Kanzagh
2000; for a critical discussion, see Henkelman 2003), that has partly been confiscated
from looters and whose unity cannot be proved.
Many objects from these complexes attest Elamite-­style iconography: both Jubaji
and the Arjan tomb yielded gold rings with broadened disc-­shaped open terminals;
one of these “power rings” was inscribed with a royal name; noteworthy are also
the small seated ladies with a fishtail that adorn the handles on some of the silver
and bronze pans in Jubaji. No systematic archaeo-­metallurgical analysis has yet been

137
 — Barbara Helwing —

Figure 7.6  Animal-­headed bracelet from the “tomb of the two Elamite princesses”
at Jubaji (Courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).

conducted on any of these objects. However, it is evident that Elamite artisans were
familiar by now with all techniques of casting and chasing, repoussé and chiseling, as
well as soldering, filigree and granulation.

CONCLU S IO N
A few patterns in the organisation of metalwork in Elam through time become
evident from this brief overview, despite the biased research situation. Beginning
with material provisioning, Elam always depended on supply from outside; first it
was part of the proto-­Elamite long distance network; when this waned, the mid-­
3rd millennium BCE saw the exchange prestigious items over long distances; Elam
and Susa, in particular, form a node in this exchange, bringing substantial exotic
material into the country. With the integration into the Mesopotamian state, the
exchange and supply seems to have been temporarily cut off in two directions – the
overland contacts had already waned, and the seaborne trade shifted under the
control of imperial administrators. Only from the second millennium BCE onwards
had a steady supply of tin built up that also reached the mountainous hinterland
of Susa.
Silver supplies seem firstly to have been obtained from the Iranian highlands, but
then probably shifted as well when the former highlands centres were abandoned.
The origin of gold is not known; there would have been opportunities for gold min-
ing in highland Iran as well as further east. Iron, lastly, appeared in the last centuries
of the 2nd millennium BCE.

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Technically, copper smiths and jewellers in Elam were at all times level with the
Mesopotamian manufactures. Alleged elements of delay and a lack of refinement that
have been raised previously cannot be verified against the material record due to the
poor chronological control of the archaeological record from Susa, and it will remain
a major effort for future research to scrutinise these claims. What is evident, however,
is the enormous amount of material and skilled work that went into projects com-
missioned by the Middle-­Elamite (and probably, but still less visible, also later the
Neo-­Elamite) state, as is attested from artefacts and from texts alike.

NOTE S
For a brief overview on the history of research, see Overlaet 2003: 14–16.
1
2 A new investigation of 900 Middle Elamite metal artefacts from Haft Tappeh has recently
been undertaken by Babak Rafiei-­Alavi (Rafiei Alavi 2015). I wish to thank Babak for allow-
ing me access to this still unpublished corpus.
3 The problem of dating these deposits that seem to contain some material which was old at
the time of deposition is not pursued further here. The reported circumstances of the discov-
eries are sometimes vague or contradictory. Usually both groups are dated to the 13th cen-
tury BCE, while the individual objects may well be considerably older, see (Braun-­Holzinger
1984 to name but the most explicit statements; Tallon, Hurtel and Drilhon 1989; Pittman
2003).
4 This cache is often dated to the Neo-­Elamite period for stylistic reasons, as the silver face
seems a bit more “puffy” than is usual in the middle Elamite period. De Morgan himself
insists on a middle Elamite date in the 11th century at the latest; interestingly, several iron
blades are said to have been found with the silver mask.
5 While it is certainly a possibility that the fragment relates to an “archaizing Elamite” ico-
nography, as proposed recently by (Alvarez-­Mon 2015) in an attempt to date the piece to
the 9th–8th century BCE, I would nevertheless classify it with the other monumental works
of art in the final middle Elamite period, as the monumental bronze relief calls for display
in a splendid and undefeated capital. Following the sack of Susa in 1153 BCE, the Elamites
retreated into the mountain zones, and population and settlement in the plains was much
reduced. No representative architecture is to be expected for the coming 200 years, and with
this, no monumental sculpture either.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Alizadeh, A. 1985. A Tomb of the Neo-­Elamite Period at Arjān, Near Behbahan. Archäolo-
gische Mitteilungen aus Iran 18: 49–73.
Álvarez-­Mon, J. 2010. The Arjan Tomb: At the Crossroads of the Elamite and the Persian
Empires. Acta Iranica 49. Leuven: Peeters.
———. 2015. Like a Thunderstorm: Storm-­Gods “Sibitti” Warriors from Highland Elam.
Annali, Università degli studi di Napoli “L’Orientale” 74: 17–46.
Amiet, P. 1966. Élam. Archée, Auvers-­sur Oise.
———. 1986. L’âge des échanges inter-­iraniens. 3500–1700 avant J.C. Editions de la Réunion
des Musées Nationaux, Paris.
———. 1988. Suse, 6000 ans d’histoire. Éditions de la Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Paris.
———. 2006. Les bronzes oubliés de Suse. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archeologie Orientale
100: 71–73.
Arab, R. and Rehren, T. 2004. The Wertime Pyrotechnological Expedition of 1968. Institute
for Archaeo-­Metallurgical Studies 24: 29–34.

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 CHAPTER EIGHT

THE PEOPLES OF ELAM

Ran Zadok

E lam1 consisted of two regions, viz. the highland occupying at least the southwest-
ern part of the Iranian plateau, and the plain of Susiana. The territorial extent of
the former was not constant. One may speak of Elam stricto sensu which consisted
of what was later named Persis (modern Fars) and Greater Elam (see below). On the
other hand, Susiana (modern Khuzestan) is a well-­defined region. It is the geograph-
ical continuation of the Mesopotamian alluvium. Susiana is adjacent to the Sealand
of Babylonia and its cultural and ethnic character have always been influenced by
its Mesopotamian neighbour. Elam lato sensu had a basically confederative political
organization.2
The Elamites are recorded both in Elamite and non-­Elamite sources from the sec-
ond half of the 3rd millennium through the second third of the 1st millennium BC,
a period of nearly 2,000 years. Moreover, the Elamite onomasticon is documented
during a period of no less than 2,500  years, viz. from the middle of the 3rd mil-
lennium BC through the first half of the 1st century AD. Since there are very few
texts in Elamite before the middle of the 2nd millennium BC, all the early Elamite
names are recorded in Sumerian and Akkadian sources from Susiana. “Elamite” in
practical terms means the dialects written in cuneiform, as the Elamite hieroglyphs
(from the earliest period) are yet undeciphered. Elamite has four chronological phases
(“dialects”), viz. Old, Middle, Neo and Royal Achaemenid (OE, ME, NE and RAE,
respectively).
Elamites inhabited a vast territory. Hence their language must have had a con-
siderable regional diversification, but hardly any diatopic dialectal information is
available. The documentation from the various phases is very uneven. OE has only
two more or less intelligible texts (a treaty and a royal inscription, Farber 1974). In
addition, there are some OE words (mostly referring to officials, craftsmen, realia,
legal terms and peculiar Elamite numinous notions) in early Akkadian sources from
Susa, where rare instances of Elamite formulae and epithets occur. Contrary to the
scant OE material, which is almost exclusively from Susa, the richer ME corpus has
a wider geographical distribution. The relatively numerous NE materials are diverse
and have a wide geographical distribution. RAE has the richest documentation, the
widest geographical distribution and is the most intelligible “dialect”. Most of the

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toponyms are listed and discussed in Vallat 1993. Elamite names are recorded in
sources from Mesopotamia, especially in Ur III documents, where the Elamites were
the most frequently mentioned non-­Semitic foreign group; the same is true of the
Old-­Babylonian period. The sources from Susiana where the population was mixed,
viz. Elamite and Semitic, also contain many Semitic (Akkadian, Amorite) and hybrid
(Semitic-­Elamite) names. The latter reflect the Elamite-­Akkadian cultural interaction
there. The Semites seem to have been dominant in early Susiana, as all the Susians
mentioned in Sargonic texts bore Semitic names,3 and most names from OB Susa are
Semitic. The percentage of the Semitic names there is much lower than that of the
Elamite ones in the later (ME and NE) onomastic documentation, which contains
some Kassite names as well. The onomasticon of NE and RAE reflects the intensive
Iranian penetration into Elam.
Apart from “nuclear” Elam in Fars and Khuzestan, ELAM (NIM) prefixed numer-
ous entities in the vast territory of the central Zagros and its piedmont (excluding its
northwestern section with Gutium and Lullubum), notably Simaški, Sapum, Sigriš,
Kimaš and Huʾurti. However, it is impossible to prove that the few individuals asso-
ciated with this vast territory (altogether 64 regions) were ethnic Elamites, as most of
their names are obscure and inexplicable in Elamite terms. One hardly expects eth-
nolinguistic unity in the central Zagros and east of it, with many almost inaccessible
mountainous regions.
As regards Greater Elam during the Ur III period, ELAM defined no less than 38
regions (a-­k′ and 4 below, proceeding roughly from southeast to northwest, refs. are
to Edzard and Farber 1974, s.vv., unless otherwise indicated):
a. Anšan, b. Huhnuri, c. Giša, d. Adamšah (see Civil 1998), e. Susa, f. Iabrat (in Rāši
in the Babylonian-­Susian frontier), g. Arawa, h. Simaški and i. Sapum. “Nuclear” Elam
consisted of at least a-­e, while h, i and presumably j. Marhaši (see below) bordered on it.
Of the following regions, even the relative location is not known; at best, they are
vaguely associated with other toponyms. They are arranged by frequency of occur-
rences (in descending order; s-­c′ occur only once each):
k. Zaul, l. Sium, m. Pugar, n. Taplala, o. Ulum(ma),4 p. Hutum, q. Siri (add ELAM
Si-­riki, Sigrist and Ozaki 2013: 207:9), r. Urri, s. Barbarranamba (or Parparrahupa), t.
Girkinam, u. Itnigi (or Anigi), v. Danhili (cf. Waetzoldt 1975: 272), w. Gili (MVN 9
138:16), x. Hub/pum (is lú-­Hu-­bi-­umki, which refers to Nu-­nu, Hilgert 1998 263:1,
a gentilic thereof?), y. Sitinrupum, z. Aš-­gi4, a′. Hu-­pu-­laki, b′. Hu-­ú-­šà-­um-­tumki,5 c′.
DI-umki and d′. E-ba-­al.6
The following nine regions (e′-j′) did not belong to “nuclear” Elam, but were
located in the northwestern Iranian plateau and its piedmont:
e′. Harši, f′. Kimaš, g′. Huʾurti (both generally juxtaposed, probably also not far
from e′, for the location of Kimaš on the Iranian plateau rather than the piedmont
of the Zagros east of Nuzi see Potts 2010: 248f.), h′. Mah(i)li/Manhili (Owen 1981:
255: FLP 1980: 15; ELAM Ma-­an-­hi-­liki: Perlov and Saveliev 2014 146:r.10), i′. Gizili
(also Sargonic, Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977: 61), j′. Duh-­duh-­lìki or Duh-­du-­
li9ki7 (presumably in the far northwest, but perhaps southeast of Šašru as the latter,
poss. modern Šemšara, is not defined as ELAM) and k′. Zurbati.
Six regions are not preceded by ELAM, but there is good reason for locating them
somewhere in the Iranian Plateau or its piedmont (refs. are to Edzard and Farber
1974, s.vv., unless otherwise indicated):

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l′. Zidanu (Zi-­da-­ni-­um is an Akkadian gentilic > Zi-­ti-­an) is perhaps identical with
OB Zi-­id-­na from Susa (Vallat 1993: 310), m′. Daba (preceded by a doubtful ELAM,
Edzard and Farber 1974: 148, bottom), n′. Iapru is mentioned together with b, o′.
Garnene, p′. Iab/pib/pum and q′. Šazibi/Šaziga.8
Šū-­Sîn reports (Kutscher 1989: 74–75, 89: Statue I, i:14–33) that he was con-
fronted9 (in 2031–2030 BC) by the SU-people (= Simaškians) of the lands of 1.
Zapšali, which extends from the border of Anšan in the south to the Upper Sea (pre-
sumably the Caspian, see Kutscher 1989: 90, 98–99, cf. Vallat 1993: cxiv and Potts
2010: 251), 2. Iapulmat, 3. ˹x˺-[x-­x-­a]mki, 4. Sigriš (preceded by ELAM in some Ur III
sources), 5. Ālum-iddatum, 6. Garta/Karda, 7. Azahar (prob. = Zahara with a-­, Sar-
gonic Zahara is mentioned together with Elam, Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977:
193), 8. Pulma,10 9. Nušušmar, 10. Nušganelum, 11. Ṣiṣirtum, 12. Arahir, 13. Šatilu
and 14. Tirmium (followed by a damaged passage).
The same ruler claims (Kutscher 1989: 83, 91–92: Statue II, viii:14–27) that he
destroyed the land of Simaški (SU-people of Statue I). This statement is followed
by the enumeration of 1. Zapšali, 4. Sigriš, 2. Iapulmat, 5. Ālum-iddatum, 6. Garta/
Karda and 13. Šatilu (explicitly subsumed as “six lands”). They are followed by 7.
Azahar, 8. Pulma, 9. Nušušmar and 10. [Nušganelum?]. Then there is a lacuna of
c. 12 lines. On the same statue (Kutscher 1989: 84–86, 92, ix:33–xi:30) the rulers
(sg. ensí) of the following lands are enumerated: In-­da-­su of 1. Zapšali, Ti-­ti of 9.
Nušušmar, S[a-­a]m-­ri of 15. [x]-˹x˺-li-­[x]ki, Nu-­[x]-li of 5. Ālum-iddatum, B/Pu-­un-­ì-­lí
of 4. Sigriš, Ba-­ri-­hi-­za of 12. Arahir, Wa-­bur-­tum of 16. [Lu?]-lu-­bi-­im[ki], Ne-­ni-­íp-­zu
of 11. Ṣiṣirtum, Ti-­ru-­bi-­ú of 10. Nušganelum, ˹x˺-am-­ti of 6. Garta and Šul-­gá-­at
of 2. Iapulmat. The Ur III scribe considered all these regions as Simaškian, led by
Zapšali. Apart from Indasu, the ruler of Zapšali, who was the chief rebel, the rulers of
4, 5, 9, 12, 15 and 16 are classified as six prisoners, whereas those of 2, 6, 10 and 11
are referred to as four prisoners. In-­da-­su is homonymous with In-­da-­aš-­šu from OB
Šušarra (Eidem and Laessoe 2001, passim). Šul-­gá-­at is homonymous with later (Ur
III) Šul-­gá-­a-­at of 17. Zi-­da-­ah-­riki (once preceded by lú-­SU, Edzard and Farber 1974:
244 and Hilgert 2003: 466a; another individual from there bore the Semitic name
Ì-lí-­ṣí-­lí, Tohru 2002 108:r.1). The region of 18. Husan, like 19. Gu-­ni-­la-­haki and 20.
Hu-­zi-­xki? (all Sargonic, see below), might have also been located on the Iranian pla-
teau or near it. Simaški extended from Fars much to the north, presumably as far as
the Caspian Sea; a huge territory with many almost inaccessible mountainous regions
and valley systems where one hardly expects ethnolinguistic unity.
In short, Greater Elam stretched over all of the western part of the Iranian Plateau
and its piedmont, except for its northernmost section (notably Gutium). This vast
area was ethnically heterogeneous with a discernible Hurrian element in the northern
section of the piedmont. A presentation of the remaining onomastic material (non-­
Hurrian; Semitic and Sumerian names are left out), as far as it can be associated with
the above-­mentioned regions, may be of interest.
The names of the 60 Simashkians (phonetic or lú-­SU, see Steinkeller 1988: 197–
202; 1990; Civil 1996) are mostly atypical (e.g. Gu-­du, lú-­Ši-­˹gi˺-ri-­šum<ki>, Owen and
Wasilewska 2000 37:11), devoid of any parallels with Semitic (due to Mesopotamian
cultural influence). Their minority (nine) are Elamite or with Elamite connexions;
several are (quasi-­)homonymous with local toponyms (see Zadok 1991: 228–229
and add Šu-­tu-­un-­gu, messenger of Ki-­ir-­na-­mi = Kir-­na-­me, Gu-­ri-­na-­me lú-­SU, from

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Puzriš-­Dagan, 42 Šulgi, Sigrist 1995: 149, 5). Regarding Gu-­un-­da (Englund 2004:
37, 42: 1, 2) and Gu-­ú-­ud/tú (Sauren 1978 239:5, see Owen 1994: 18–19, n. 7) from
Hurti, the former may be based on kunt-­which is extant in names from OB Susa on
the one hand and MB Nuzi on the other (Gelb, MacRae and Purves 1943: 230a, 321a
and Zadok 1983: 112–113, 117; 2002: 47 ad Hurr. kuntari).
Duchene (1986: 68) points out that Pašime is never preceded by ELAM (cf. ELAM
Hu-­hu-­nu-­riki ù Pa-­šim-­eki, ITT 5 8212:5, where ELAM refers only to the former)
and therefore should be placed in Susiana. However, several Ur III references to Susa
are preceded by ELAM, cf. ELAM Su-­sín-­naki-­me (Edzard and Farber 1974: 176)
and ELAM Susinki (SET 187:9). Pašime is now identified with Tall Abū Šīja north of
Amara near the Iraqi-­Iranian border, 100 km west of Susa (see Hussein et al. 2010),
that is, in the frontier of Babylonia and Susiana (like Rāši). Both individuals from
there, who are recorded in Ur III sources, bore Semitic names (cf. Edzard and Farber
1974: 27).
The limited onomasticon of Marhaši (46 individuals, see Zadok 1993: 222–224, a
variant of Ar-­bi-­lu-­uk-­bi is Ar-­pi-­lu-­uk-­bi, Sharlach 2004: 28: MLC 36:6.8), another
region defined as ELAM, is mostly unexplained. Very few names resemble Elamite
anthroponyms (cf. Zadok 1991: 229). Connections with the Kassite and Hurrian
onomastica are rather vague. The case for locating Marhaši in the southeastern part
of the Iranian Plateau is strong. Steinkeller (1982: 263) regards Marhaši as an inter-
mediary between Elam and Meluhha in the east. Potts (2005) suggests a specific
location within this range in southeastern Iran, namely, the Jiroft culture. A location
in Margiana (advocated by Francfort and Tremblay 2010) is based on an alleged
affinity of the late form Marhuš with Old Persian Marguš, and would thus extend
the geographical horizon of the early Mesopotamian sources to almost incredible
dimensions. In short, Marhaši is not to be sought far beyond Elam (see Zadok 2013:
409 with lit.).
Only half of the 18 recorded anthroponyms from Greater Elam (outside the
“nuclear” one) resemble Elamite forms (see Zadok 1991: 229–230):
Hu-­un-­hi-­li (from Kimash), Hu-­un-­ur5-ti and Hu-­ba-­mer-­si-­ni from Huʾurti as
well as Hu(-ul)-li/lí-­par(-ra, see Notizia 2010, 2011) and Še-­il-­ha from Duhduhli, Hu-­
un-­ki-­ib-­ri from Ulli, In-­da-­da-­bi from Iapipum and Hu-­un-­da-­ah-­še-­er from Husan.
Pre-­Sargonic texts have almost no Elamite names. All four Susians mentioned in
Sargonic texts bear Semitic names (cf. Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977: 154–155).
The same applies to Ik-­ru-­ub-­É-a son of I-ki-­lum a-­bi uruELAMki in an inscription of
Manishtushu. On the other hand, rulers of Elam bear non-­Semitic, mostly Elamite,
names, viz. Sa-­pir6-si-­mu-­ut, Hi-­si-­ip-­ra-­si-­ni and Lu-­uh-­iš-­an (cf. Edzard, Farber and
Sollberger 1977: 44–45), Si-­im-­hu-­zi, the ensí of Huhnuri (RTC 238:3, cf. Edzard,
Farber and Sollberger 1977: 73), late Sargonic Puzur4-dInšušinak(MÙŠ.EREN) son of
Šim-­bi-­iš-­hu-­uk king of Awan (André and Salvini 1989: 65, pl. VI: Sb 156//149:2–6,
Elamite paternal name), Hi-­da-­rí-­da-­x ensí of Gu-­ni-­la-­haki and Zi-­na ensí of Hu-­zi-­
xki? (Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977: 64, 75).
There is a sizable dossier of individuals who are mentioned in Old Akkadian doc-
uments found in Susa, and datable to the Sargonic period and slightly later (MDP 14
1–85). Most individuals bore Akkadian, Akkadianized and atypical names, but there
are also a fair number of non-­Semitic (over 20) notably Elamite anthroponyms. The
Elamite deity dNa-­ru-­ti is recorded along with Man-­za-­ti (MDP 14 74), which was

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popular in Susiana, and there is some reason to believe that Hu-­um-­ba-­a[n?] (MDP
14 3, r.i:9) refers to the prominent Elamite god Humban. Moreover, an anonymous
Elamite functionary is recorded (MDP 14 9:11). Apart from this dossier, an admin-
istrative list of personnel from Susa (MDP 24 384) contains mostly Elamite names.
Akkadian and Elamite names as well as, perhaps, an Amorite anthroponym (Ar-­sa-­
d
Da-­ga-­an, cf. Lambert 1991: 56) occur in other Old Akkadian texts from Susa (MDP
28 523–525). Apart from the Elamite deities mentioned above, the Mesopotamian
deities Ìl-­a-­ba4, dŠu-­nir (< Bēlat Šuhnir, juxtaposed in MDP 14 51 in fine and MDP
14 71, iv: 7–8, for the latter cf. Hilgert 2012–2013: 263) and Ningirsu (MDP 14 70)
were worshipped in Susiana. More Mesopotamian deities appear as theophorous
elements of Akkadian and Sumerian anthroponyms:
Ea, Enki, Enlil, Erra, Adad, Sîn/Nannar, Šamaš, Nergal, Šulpae, Ištar, Girra, Bau,
Kūbu, Ninhursaga and Nisaba. Many of them recur in the later anthroponymy of OB
Susa. Evidence for cultural interaction is negligible: there is only one hybrid (Elamite-­
Akkadian) name (Su-­kir-­a-­bí, MDP 14 6). This early documentation group has con-
nections with the Trans-­Tigridian region of Mesopotamia.
An anonymous Marhashite (Ba-­ra-­ah-­ší-­ù) is recorded in MDP 14 23:r.2. The mix-
ture of Akkadian, Elamite and atypical names, as well as the cult of the Elamite dei-
ties, combined with the geographical connection of Susiana with the Trans-­Tigridian
and Diyala regions located on the way from Mesopotamia to Susiana, prove that the
Old Akkadian corpus from Susa basically refers to the local population rather than to
the Mesopotamian periphery. Moreover, this corpus consists mainly of administrative
documents, thereby supplying a relatively balanced coverage of different layers of
the society; in contrast to legal documents which generally refer to a certain circle of
friends, colleagues and partners or to a restricted social network.
Scholars argue that the Old Akkadian economic documents from Susa refer to
a colony of Akkadian settlers, who were brought by the conquerors (Foster 1993
and [Sallaberger and] Westenholz 1999). However, it should be remembered that
the Semitic presence in Susiana is a longue durée phenomenon (Vallat [1980: 3] is
of the opinion that the majority of Susiana’s inhabitants were Semites). In addition,
ancient polities were not fully bounded but rather had shifting and porous frontiers
constituted by irregular fringes of the desert (cf. Lattimore 1989). This model of inter-
action can be applied not only to the fringe of a desert but to any geomorphological
configurations, such as mountainous regions. Ambiguous boundaries are a source of
contention: polities like Pashime, Yamutbal and Uruaz often changed hands. This is
not to deny that archives written by Sumero-­Akkadian scribes can indeed potentially
be somewhat “Mesopotamian biased”.
It can be concluded that Akkadian-­speaking people were part of the local scene of
Susiana as early as the Sargonic period and constituted a significant segment of the
population there. Moreover, there is evidence for continuity of their presence well
into the OB period (the seemingly different pantheon may be due to later develop-
ments which are not exclusively external, see below).
A treaty between Narām-­Sîn and an Elamite king (MDP 11 2–11 = EKI 2 = Hinz
1967: 91–93) contains a list of at least 32 deities (below they are preceded by num-
bers according to their enumeration in the list), mostly Elamite, as well as a few
Mesopotamian ones, such as 3. dA-ba4 (Ilaba, see Hinz and Koch 1987: 751), Išhara
28. (dÁš-­ha-­ra), 15. Ninurta and 18. Ninkarak, as well as 17. Mazziat (dMa-­zi-­a[t]).

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The latter was popular in Susiana (cf. dMa-­za-­at of Pi-­ša-­an-­ne, MDP 28 441:22–23,
and Vallat 1993: 221). Like 6. dNIN.MÙŠ.EREN  =  Inšušinak (see Hinz and Koch
1987: 761). Several of these Elamite deities are later contained as theophorous ele-
ments in anthroponyms: 1. dPí-­ni-­ki[r], 2. dHu-­ba-­an, 7. dSi-­mu-­ut, 14. [d]Hu-­ut-­ra-­an,
26. dKir-­wa-­si-­ir, 5. dNa-­hi-­ti, 19. dNa-­rux-­dè, 4. dZí-­it and 16. [dS]i-­a-­šum (cf. Zadok
1984, s.vv.). Discernible compound theonyms are 22. dRu-­hu-­iš-­na, 23. dRu-­hu-­sa-­
[ak] (juxtaposed, both with Ruhu-­), 8. [dS]i-­ir-­na-­[b]í-­ir (Sir-­napir), 31. dSi-­im-­it-­sa-­ra-­
r[a]-a[r] (with Simt/Timpt-­), and 20. dGu-­[gu]-mu-­uk-­ti-­ir (with -mukti-­r). Two other
theonyms which are just barely possible compounds are 27. dHu-­ur-­ba-­ha-­ir (cf. 13.
[d]Hu-­ur-­bi with Hinz and Koch 1987: 722) and perhaps 24. dNi-­ar-­z[i]-na. The
remaining deities are apparently simplex forms:
9. [dH]u-­sa, 10. [dU]g-­gab-­na, 11. [dI]m-­it-­ki, 12. [dT]ul-­la-­at, 21. dHu-­um-­qa-­at,
25. dLa-­àm-­ba-­ni, 29. dNi-­tu-­ti-­ir, 30. dTi-­ú-­uk and 32. [d]S[u-­si]-ib-­ba. The principle
behind the order of the deities is not transparent. However, at least the initial trio
represents a pair of important Elamite deities (female and male) and an important
Akkadian god of the Sargonic period. Zit, “luck”, is listed fourth, not only because
it presumably occupied a prominent place in the official pantheon, but also due to
its necessary importance in the popular religion. Only two of the Mesopotamian
deities are juxtaposed (17, 18), whereas the others are scattered. A resemblant pair of
Elamite deities is juxtaposed (22, 23), but another resemblant pair is not (13, 27). The
arrangement of the solar deity in fifth place and Simut in seventh conforms to their
importance in the Elamite pantheon.
The toponymy which is recorded in texts from Sargonic Susa is mostly non-­Semitic.
King Puzur-­Inšušinak from Susa (a contemporary of Ur-­Nammu, 2112–2095 BC,
see André-­Salvini 1992: 87 and 2006–2008) invokes in his inscription (MDP 14 9ff.)
the Trans-­Tigridian goddess dBa-­la-­at Te-­èr-­ra-­ba-­an (MDP 14 20, i:2ʹ, cf. Edzard,
Farber and Sollberger 1977: 156, 159; Vallat 1993: 277). This is followed by a long
list of places covering a vast territory, including Ki-­maški and ma-­atki Hu-­úr-­timki in
the northwest part of the Iranian plateau (MDP 14 9ff., i:12, 15), as well as a refer-
ence to the king of Si-­maš-­giki (v:10), and perhaps Gutium (Gu-­túki, ii:12).
The archive of Igi-­buni son of A-at-­ta was unearthed in Susa and is dated to the
Ur III period. Out of the 61 individuals recorded in this archive (peruse the index of
De Graef 2005: 159–161), no less than 42 = 68.85% bore Akkadian names, whereas
only two (3.27% including the archive owner) had Elamite anthroponyms. The per-
centage of people with Mesopotamian names is even higher (46  =  75.4%) when
one adds the Sumerian material (2 + 1 doubtful + 1 questionable hybrid Sumero-­
Akkadian names, i.e. 6.55%). The percentage of Elamites may be slightly elevated
by adding several atypical names, which are explicable in Elamite terms. There are
no more than ten individuals (16.39%) with atypical anthroponyms, and not all of
these names are amenable to Elamite interpretation. One individual (1.63%) bore
a doubtful Kassite name (Ga-­an-­da, cf. Kassite Gandaš?) and another one (1.63%)
an unaffiliated non-­Semitic anthroponym. No Amorites are recorded. Evidence for
cultural interaction is negligible; there is only one hybrid (Akkado-­Elamite) anthrop-
onym, viz. Puzur-­Šimut (1.63%). Filiations are rarely recorded and none of them are
demonstrably mixed.
The deity NIN.MARki was worshipped and the following theophorous elements,
all Mesopotamian, are recorded:

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Ilu, Ištar, Ea, Sîn, Erra, Sukkal, Išar, Kūbu, Mama, Damu, Šarru and Ṭaban. The
last element (originally a river in the Diyala region) suggests a Trans-­ Tigridian
connection.
Five of the six Susians mentioned in Ur III texts bore Semitic names, and the
Mesopotamian deity Nin-­hursag was worshipped there in Shulgi’s time. Ki-­na-­mu-­ša
sukkal Susa (Sigrist 2005 272:2) is apparently non-­Semitic. Two individuals bear-
ing Elamite names from Adamšah (possibly modern Tepe Surkehgan near Shushtar
in Susiana/Khuzestan), viz. Me-­rí-­iš and Ù/U18/U19-ba-­a, are mentioned. The name
of A-b/pu-­du sukkal Adamšah (Sigrist 2005 287:5) has no onomastic parallels in
Elamite, but that of Hu-­un-­da-­hi-­še-­er from Anšan, who is recorded at Puzriš-­Dagan
on 13.X.44 Šulgi (Hilgert 1998 171:r.12), is unmistakenly Elamite.
Many individuals without obvious geographical context, who were defined as
ELAM (mainly in the so-­called “messenger texts”), bore Sumerian and Semitic names
(for their role in the Ur III state see Michalowski 2008). There were 24 individuals of
the same category who had Elamite (pure or hybrid) and atypical names (all from Ur
III, see Zadok 1991: 230, nos. 97–120; 1994: 40–43).
If we add the names of Elamite rulers and dignitaries mentioned in Ur III, OB, MB,
NB, MA, NA and other sources, we shall enumerate altogether approximately 220
anthroponyms. The number of names borne by individuals who were not described
as Elamites, but are explicable in Elamite terms, is much higher.
A sample of 169 individuals who are mentioned in early OB documents found
in Susa (mostly administrative from the time of Atta-­hušu, c. 1900 BC, MDP 10
1–126) reveals that 60 = 35.5% bore Akkadian (very few Akkadianized) names. The
percentage of individuals with Elamite names (maximum 65 with various degrees
of plausibility) is slightly higher (38.46%), but since many atypical and short names
(34 = 20.11%) are explicable in Elamite terms (they are based on Elamite ‘hypoco-
ristic roots’),11 one may conclude that most of the individuals mentioned in early OB
Susa were Elamites.12 The material has a relatively broad geographical coverage; sev-
eral individuals are from other settlements in Susiana. Apart from the sizable implicit
(onomastic) evidence evaluated just above, there are also several explicit occurrences
of ethnic groups: Simashkians are recorded in the settlement of Marzak (MDP 10
66), in addition to two other groups which are not attested elsewhere, viz. Samatians
(Sa-­ma-­ti-­ip, probably in Luristan), Saprians (Sa-­ap-­ri-­i[p]), Hatans (Ha-­ti-­i[p]) (all
anonymous). Apart from Elamite deities (including Inšušinak, the main god of Susa
and Simut of Ruksinum; Ru-­uk-­si-­nu recurs in MDP 55 26:20), the Mesopotamian
deities Enki, Nannar, Nergal, Inanna, Ninegalla and Il(i)abrat were worshipped there
(cf. MDP 10: 5, 7, 34, 97). More Mesopotamian deities appear as theophorous ele-
ments of Akkadian anthroponyms (Adad, Sîn/Nannar, Šamaš, Nergal, Nabûm, Girra,
Bau, Il(i)abrat and Kūbu, peruse the index of MDP 10 75–79). Many of them recur
in the later anthroponymy of OB Susa. Evidence for cultural interaction is negligi-
ble: there are only three hybrid (Akkadian-­Elamite) theophorous names and just one
mixed filiation.
An additional text group from early OB Susa (administrative documents in MDP
55) has 305 individuals (severely damaged names are left out; the classification of
each group is with various degrees of plausibility). The largest group are the bear-
ers of the Akkadian names, viz. 125 = 40.98%. The percentage of individuals with
Elamite names (maximum 93) is lower (30.49%), but since (1) many atypical and

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short names (57 = 18.68%) are explicable in Elamite terms, and (2) the non-­Semitic
unexplained names (17 = 5.57%) may also be Elamite (the most likely candidate),
one may conclude that most of the individuals mentioned in early OB Susa were
Elamites. In addition, there are nine individuals with Amorite names (2.95%). The
material, which also includes cadastral documents, has a broad geographical cover-
age. There are some Akkadian toponyms.
A worshipper of Ninegalla is recorded in MDP 55 53. The following Mesopota-
mian deities appear as theophorous elements of Akkadian anthroponyms: Ilu, Ea,
Enlil, Adad, Sîn/Nannar, Šamaš, Ištar, Nanâ, Bau, Mammītum, Nunu, Kaki, Išum,
Amurru, Sukkal, Sigar and Kūbu (peruse the index of MDP 55 193–203). Many of
them recur in the later anthroponymy of OB Susa. The occurrence of Ištarān is due
to the presence of people from Dēr or its region (Dēr is recorded in MDP 55 81:3, cf.
MDP 55 183 ad loc.). Evidence for cultural interaction is modest: there are only seven
hybrid (Akkadian-­Elamite) theophorous names (2.29%).
Slightly later within the OB period, we reach the peak of the documentation. The
names of the rulers of OB Susa are Elamite, but most of the commoners there bore
Akkadian names (see Lambert 1991: 55–56), some with mixed Akkadian-­Elamite
genealogies (bearers of Elamite names generally belong to the later generations, cf.
Jalilvand Sadafi 2013: 356ff.). Commoners bearing Elamite names, as well as individ-
uals with atypical anthroponyms (many explicable in Elamite terms), were a sizable
minority at OB Susa (the preliminary estimate of 25%, according to Glassner 1991:
117, must be somewhat too high). The abundant sample contains almost no Amorite
names.
In addition, there were very few Kassites in OB Susa. The fact that the river ordeal,
which in the Old Babylonian period is mainly recorded in texts from Susa, became
more common in Babylonia during the Kassite than in the preceding (Old Babylo-
nian) period may point to an origin of the Kassites east of Babylonia, but is not con-
clusive evidence. This strengthens the case for the southern and central Zagros as the
original abodes of the Kassites.
Only three individuals may have originated from Tilmun, since their names include
the theophorous element Inzak. The hydronyms Atap Ki-­ma-­ší-­i and Atap Šu-­ba-­ri
(Vallat 1993: 332, 336) are named after people from Kimaš and Subartu, respectively,
who were presumably settled in Susa as prisoners of war.
It seems that endogamy was the norm, but exceptions were not rare, seeing that
there is modest evidence for intermarriage between the two groups. Most of the fili-
ations (generally just two generations) are either purely Akkadian, or Akkadian with
an atypical name. In the minority of cases, filiations are mixed (Akkadian-­Elamite).
A case in point is the four generations of a family with a house that included a chapel
of the Mesopotamian goddess Ningal (De Meyer 1961). Cultural interaction took
place, but does not seem to be intensive: the percentage of hybrid names is low.
Despite these coherent trends, there was no segregation. The members of both
ethnic groups formed the Susa civil community13 and enjoyed an intensive socio-­
economic interaction. In one case, the judge was Elamite (In-­zu-­zu son of Ku-­du-­úr-­
d
Na-­šu-­úr, the only individual with a filiation in the deed), and the document contains
an Elamite legal term. The judge, who heads the list of witnesses, is followed by
a commander with an Akkadian name, and then by Te-­em-­ti-­pí-­it-­ra-­haš, I-pi-­zu-­
lu-­uš, Ra-­bi-­bi (chamberlain), Pe-­el-­za, Ki-­ri-­ri, Šar-­ilī and Si-­mu-­mu. The principal is

153
 — Ran Zadok —

Ea-­gāmil, while the murdered person is I-ù-­ú. Thus we have three Akkadian vs. four
Elamite names (cf. De Meyer 2001: 31). Most of the scribes have Akkadian names
and very few bear atypical ones. The scribe with the Elamite name I-g[i-­hal]-ki (MDP
23 270:18) is an exception. Elamite titles were borne by individuals with Akkadian
names as well.
Both parties in an unprovenanced deed, viz. In-­zu-­zu and Ku-­uk!-dŠà-­ni-­ip-­GAL
(son of Si-­ni-­d[. . .]), have Elamite names, but all the witnesses (three) and the scribe
bear Akkadian anthroponyms (Tammuz 2000, apparently late OB in view of the
ductus). This is the only occurrence of Ku-­uk!-dŠà-­ni-­ip-­GAL, who was a worshipper
of Simut; but a homonymous, if not an identical individual is recorded in MDP 28
471:22, where he is followed by ÉRIN 10 (perhaps a decurion, according to Scheil,
MDP 28 112 ad loc.; the same name recurs in MDP 28 540:3 without a title). The
latter also witnessed the deed (listed after Šamaš and Inšušinak!). His name ends with
a compound theonym (Šanip-­riša?), which is identical with Sa-­ni-­ip-­GAL (MDP 28
441:8, with s/š-­interchange). The compound anthroponym and the context in MDP
28 515:r.5, where Sa-­ni-­ip-­GAL is listed after Si-­mu-­ut, leaves no doubt that it is a
deity. The scribe is homonymous with Mu-­ha-­du-­um, one of the scribes of MDP 23
181:32. Thus the deed is very probably from Susa.
The material has a limited geographical coverage but contains many microtop-
onyms referring to fields and canals around Susa. Fortified areas (Akk. sg. dimtu,
see Vallat 1993: 12–13 s.vv. AN.ZA.GAR- . . .), such as -Abu-­ṭāb, Ibni-­Adad, -šarri,
-ṭupšarri, eššetu, as well as Dimti ša Halteri, are mostly ephemeral. Most of the expli-
cable toponyms and hydronyms are Akkadian. Only a minority are Elamite.
The numerous individuals mentioned in this rich documentation lived in Susa,
apart from a very few who resided in its vicinity, or came from another region, like
the “Šugalians” (Šu-­ù-­ga-­li-­ip, MDP 28 446:8, cf. RAE Šugalli(-[.  .  .]), who might
have originated from Persis [Vallat 1993: 262]).
Apart from Elamite deities (including Inšušinak, the main god of Susa and Simut),
the Mesopotamian deities Ningal, Šamaš, Nergal and Inanna (dINNIN),14 as well as
Ninegalla (MDP 28 517:10) and Ereškigal (MDP 28 533:3), were worshipped at
Susa. Priests of Annunītum and Erra (both bearing Akkadian names) are recorded
in MDP 22 101:15, 20. People swore by the deities Inšušinak, Šamaš and Adad.
Išme-­karāb, Šazi and Kūbu were also invoked (see Scheil, MDP 24 19 ad MDP 24
339:11). Inšušinak, Šamaš (passim) and Il(i)abrat (MDP 24 330, the principal is I-bi-­
Il(i)abrat), as well as (rarely) Nergal, Ea (MDP 24 376:18–19) and Šara (MDP 24
331:28) acted as witnesses.
In addition to the local deities (In)šušinak (Šuši)15 and Išme-karāb, many Mesopo-
tamian deities appear as theophorous elements in the abundant corpus of Akkadian
anthroponyms from OB Susa (peruse the indexes of MDP 22–24, 28):
Ilu, Adad, Enlil, Ea, Babu, Erra, Nergal, Igištu (or Pālil), Išum, Ištar, Inanna,
Annunītu, Šamaš, Sîn, Nannar, Ningal, Nabium, Amurru, Išar, Kūbu, Il(i)abrat, Mamu,
Nunu, Kakku, Sigar and Šarru. These theophorous elements appear in the Akkadian
onomasticon from Susa as early as the Sargonic period. This find, combined with the
fact that the Akkadian name-­bearers were the largest group in the pertinent docu-
mentation from Susa during the pre-­OB period, indicates that the “Akkadianization”
of Susa did not start in the OB period, but rather much earlier. This differs from the
opinion of Lambert (1991: 57–58), who suggested a lack of continuity based on the

154
 — The peoples of Elam —

absence of deities popular in central Babylonia in both periods, such as Marduk and
Zababa. Yet this argument only demonstrates that Susiana was influenced in the first
place by the closer Babylonian periphery, rather than by the more remote central Bab-
ylonia. We witness here a general continuity of the ethno-­linguistic situation in Susa,
with a change confined to certain, rather insignificant, components of the pantheon,
since the theophorous elements listed below are recorded in Susa only in the later
OB period. The considerable increase in the number of the theophorous elements at
that time is due mainly to the great surge in the documentation rather than a massive
influx of new population. Lambert suggests that some people arrived at OB Susa
from Sumer, presumably from the region around Umma and Nina, in view of the
occurrence of the deities Šara and Nasi,16 who were popular only in and around these
cultic centres. However, it should be remembered that only a handful of individuals
bore names with these theophorous elements. The possibility that they descended
from prisoners of war, who were brought by the Elamites after they had destroyed
the Ur III state, cannot be excluded. The existence of a chapel of Ningal in a private
house of an Akkadian-­speaking family at Susa (cf. above) would point in the same
direction, as this goddess was venerated at Ur.
Theophorous elements recorded only in OB Susa (not earlier; peruse the indexes of
MDP 22–24, 28) are Anu, Bēlet-­ilī, Dada, Damiqtum, Damkina, Dumuzi (possibly >
Tuzi17), Gilgameš, Huluppu, Irrak, Kabta, Kittum, Kunuš-­ kadru, Kuzzalu, Lah-
mat, Lamassu, Lulu, Mugra(t), Ninazu, Nin-­Isin(na), Padûm, Rimku, Šadûm, Šazi,
Šērum and Šudda, as well as underworld deities such as Šubula and perhaps Isqan (~
Sumuqan/Šakkan?).
Many of the above-­mentioned deities were worshipped in the Trans-­Tigridian
regions of Mesopotamia (notably on the Diyala River, and in Rashi), as well as the
Sealand, which were adjacent to Susiana. It can be surmised that there was an inces-
sant influx of people from these neighbouring regions to Susiana.
Elamites migrated also to Babylonia, and were politically involved in the adjacent
kingdoms of Larsa and Eshnuna. Bilalama of Eshnuna, who was contemporaneous
with Tan-­Ruhurater of Elam, bore an Elamite name (see Saporetti 2002: 20–21, 61).
Out of the 18 individuals with linguistically classifiable names from Late OB Susa
(De Graef 2007), 12 = 66.66% bore Akkadian and 6 = 33.33% Elamite names.
More than 650 economic tablets from the early MB period (c. 1450–1400 BC)
were unearthed at Kapnak (modern Haft Tepe, 17 km southwest of Susa). Kapnak
had connections not only with other regions of Elam, but also with Babylonia (cf.
Glassner 1991: 111, 114).
Glassner (1991: 117) reports 55% bearers of Elamite names in Kapnak (Pirhi-­
Amurru and Ili-­barna, Babylonians who did not reside in Kapnak, cf. Herrero 1976:
96f.: tablet 1:r.12; Herrero 1976: 98f.: tablet 3:7, are not taken into account) vs. 90%
in Mālamīr (but see below). This is also the estimation of De Graef (2013: 275–276).
However, there is a sizable group of names from Kapnak which resists any analysis.
In addition, there are also individuals with Kassite, atypical and hybrid (Akkadian-­
Elamite) names.
The majority of the individuals mentioned in a small text group, which allegedly
originates from Mālamīr (early MB, 16 texts, MDP 4 169–194, re-­edited in MDP
22, see Stolper 1988), are non-­Semitic, overwhelmingly Elamite (c. 80%). There are
no more than two Kassite names, viz. A-ni-­ki-­la-­an-­di (see Scheil, MDP 22:144 ad

155
 — Ran Zadok —

MDP 22 132:2) and perhaps Šup-­šu-­pi, which is atypical but may have a Kassite
base. Of the three scribes, one bore a doubtful Akkadian name; the other two had
atypical anthroponyms. No more than eight individuals bore Akkadian or Akkadian-­
looking anthroponyms (e.g., Hu-­ul-­li-­mi-­šu, see CAD H: 228a, and Pu-­su-­ri-­ri if it
is based on puzur-­). Evidence for cultural interaction and assimilation are the five
hybrid (Akkadian-­Elamite) names and the mixed filations, which are not rare in this
limited sample. Despite the unproven provenience, the texts must originate from a
site in Susiana or near it, in view of the fact that the parties swear by Inšušinak, and
the divine witnesses are Šamaš and Ruhurater.
The later MB period has much less textual material. There is evidence for the
presence of Semites in a town of Susiana at that time (cf. Brinkman 1986: 200). Some
individuals in the rich later MB documentation from Nippur are defined as Elamites
or bear Elamite anthroponyms (including hybrid names, see Zadok 1991: 230, nos.
138–142).
From the middle of the 2nd millennium BC onwards there is a surge in the number
of ME royal inscriptions, with a wide geographical distribution across the country
(e.g., Liyan  =  modern Bandar Bushehr and Dūr-­Untaš  =  modern Chogha Zanbil).
They supply pertinent information about the uppermost layers of the Elamite society.
In addition, there are over 310 economic texts from Anshan (Tall-­i Malyan). They
are late ME or rather early NE (mostly from c. 1100–1000 BC according to Steve
1992). The relatively numerous NE material is diverse and has a wide geographical
distribution. A list of Susian deities and designations of Elamite classes of priests are
recorded in a Neo-­Assyrian royal inscription concerning Elam. There is evidence for
the presence of a Babylonian community in 7th-­century BC Hidali and Sumuntunaš
(see Henkelman 2003: 185, n. 10).
The principality of Samati is to be sought in southwest Lurestan, north of Khuz-
estan, where NE inscriptions datable to the 6th century BC (roughly coeval with the
Acrople texts from Susa) were either found in the Kalmākarra cave or are thought
to originate from there. Almost all the 27 different names contained in these inscrip-
tions, and referring to 15 individuals, are explicable in Elamite terms with a very
slight Iranian admixture (see Henkelman 2003: 205, 214–227, esp. 223, table  2.8
and 225, n. 156). Southwest Lurestan was populated by Kassites (Kossaioi) as late as
the beginning of the Hellenistic period. It is therefore noteworthy that no ascertained
Kassite names are recorded in this text group. However, since this minute prosopo-
graphic sample refers only to a particular circle of the local elite, one cannot reach
definite conclusions regarding the ethno-­linguistic composition of this region.
Most individuals mentioned in the relatively sparse Neo-­Elamite material from
Susa (“Acrople texts”, late 7th–second half of the 6th centuries BC, cf. Álvarez-­Mon
2010: 206 with n. 87), are Elamites. Kassites, Babylonians and Arameo-­Arabians can
also be considered indigenous, as the population of Susiana contained a Semitic seg-
ment. The deity Iltarān of the eastern Babylonian city of Dēr, near the Elamite border,
was worshipped in Susa, and there is evidence there of Babylonian religious-­cultural
influence (see Zadok 2011: 127–128). Another minority were Iranians  – actually
Persians (see Tavernier 2011). According to Henkelman (2003: 211–212), “Persians”
in the Acrople texts are not necessarily an ethnic group as distinct from Elamites, but
presumably are any people originating from Persis (Anshan). An example of a specific
Iranian group in the Acrople texts is the Unsak-­people (Henkelman 2003: 186).

156
 — The peoples of Elam —

The Persian tribes migrated first to eastern Elam, notably Anshan, where Elamite-­
Persian religious acculturation played an important role in their ethnogenesis (see
Henkelman 2003: 188). They are first mentioned in Assyrian inscriptions from the
Sargonid period, but they were probably present there much earlier. The abundant
documentation from late Achaemenid Persepolis is from the final stages of this pro-
cess: the fact that c. 90% of the c. 2000 named individuals from there bore Iranian
names vs. less than 10% with Elamite anthroponyms (see Gershevitch  1969: 168,
cf. Mayrhofer 1973: 306–310) strongly suggests a very advanced Iranianization of
Persis by the late Achaemenid period. This conclusion is strengthened by the fact that
RAE has not only the richest documentation (statistically outweighing all the earlier
material), but also the widest geographical distribution. The abundant administrative
documentation from Persepolis is written mostly in Elamite, following the indigenous
scribal tradition of the region, but contains numerous Iranian (notably Old Persian)
loanwords. Elamo-­Persian linguistic interference was very intensive. The toponymy
was gradually Iranianized, but a certain Elamite substrate has been preserved. The
Elamites are the “unmarked” entity of the Persepolis corpus, while Persians are some-
times specified by tribes, for example, Maraphians, as well as Zampegir-­Persians, in
Achaemenid Hidali (see Henkelman 2003: 185, n. 10, 188, 213).
Global imperial needs, starting with the construction of imperial capitals and
other mega-­projects, necessitated massive movements of foreign workers to Persis
and Susiana. During the late Achaemenid period, there is abundant evidence for the
presence of foreign population groups acting as workmen at Persepolis and in the
rest of Persis. They are listed here (the size of the first five groups is clearly docu-
mented): Skudrians (basically from Thrace and neighbouring regions, see Henkelman
and Stolper 2009), Lycians, Assyrians, Cappadocians and Babylonians (many acting
as Aramaic scribes). There is mention also of Arabians (see Zadok 2011: 125 with n.
11), Egyptians, Nubians, Bactrians, Sogdians, Indians, Lydians, Phrygians and Greeks
(“Ionians”); almost all the members of these groups are anonymous.
Late-­Achaemenid Susa was inhabited not only by Elamites, Persians and Semites,
but also had an Egyptian community which preserved its own customs (see Joannès
1984 and Abraham 1992).

NOTE S
1 Abbreviations of cuneiform text editions follow the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (CAD),
unless indicated otherwise.
2 See [Sallaberger and] Westenholz 1999: 90 with n. 405, cf. Saporetti 2002: 296–297.
3 Cf. Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977: 154f.
4 Edzard and Farber 1974: 204 and ELAM Ú-lum-­maki (Garfinkle, Sauren and Van De
Mieroop 2010 209:10), perhaps identical with Ú-li-­me in a document from OB Susa
(MDP 28 441:16).
5 Sigrist 2004 462, Garfinkle, Sauren and Van De Mieroop 2010 205:7 and Capitani 2003
26:r.4, respectively. For Ebal cf. Edzard and Farber 1974: 38.
6 See Neumann 2011: 13 ad pl. 3 after 116: 3, 4 and cf. D’Agostino and Pomponio 2002
235:r.5, respectively.
7 See Notizia 2010, 2011. Formerly lemmatized as Duddul. It is not homonymous with
Tuttul.
8 Cf. Edzard and Farber 1974 as well as Owen 1981: 247ff., s.vv.; see Vallat 1985: 50f.

157
 — Ran Zadok —

9 This rendering is fully acceptable despite damage to the artefact at this point of the inscrip-
tion, (end of ii – beginning of iii), as typically, the inscription’s author accuses the enemy of
opening hostilities.
10 This toponym is extant as a deity (Pi-­ul-­ma, MDP 28 533:10), which is contained as a the-
ophorous element in several Akkadian anthroponyms from OB Susa: dPu-­ul-­ma-­um-­mi-­
la-­ab-­bi (MDP 23 237:14) and Warad(ÌR)-pu-­ul-­ma (MDP 23 213:r.5; MDP 23 255:4).
11 Cf. Zadok 1983: 98–99, where a minority of such names may be based on Semitic forms.
12 The sample includes at least six unexplained names (3.44%) and perhaps one Kassite
anthroponym (0.57%), viz. Ha-­ aš-­
mu-­ r[i] (MDP 10 101:5, cf. perhaps Hašmar and
Hašimur, Balkan 1954: 94).
13 See Yusifov 1968: 90ff., 166 and passim; cf., for example, MDP 23 395, where a female
free citizen of Susa (mārat Šuši) is mentioned.
14 MDP 28 533: 4, 18. dINNIN was also worshipped in Dūr-­A-ga-­ti and possibly in Ga-­an-­
za-­ra according to the same document.
15 E.g., Šu-­šu-­li-­wi-­ir, EN-šu-­ú-­ši (see Scheil, MDP 22: 105 ad MDP 22 91:15 and MDP 22:
91 ad MDP 22 77:5), A-ni-­ih-­Šu-­ši (MDP 18 205 = MDP 22 45:37).
16 Extant in Pù-­zur8-dNa-­sí (MDP 28 479:11) and Puzur-­Na-­sí-­it (see Scheil, MDP 28 84 ad
MDP 28 439:r.2). The latter form must be secondary: the feminine suffix -t was inserted
by the Akkadian-­speaking worshippers because it was a goddess.
17 fdTu-­zi-­dam-­qa-­at (MDP 23 288:10, see Scheil, MDP 22 69 ad MDP 22 58:3 and cf.
Krebernik 2014: 249).

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 CHAPTER NINE

ELAMITES AND IRANIANS 1

Jan Tavernier

INTRODU CTIO N
The Achaemenid empire and its history are intensively studied topics, as the empire
itself is considered to be the first truly Iranian empire. The Iranian character of the
Achaemenid empire has long been recognized and is continually being corroborated
by the strong presence of Iranian names in non-­Iranian texts from the Achaemenid
period (cf. Tavernier 2007 and the volumes of the series Iranisches Personennamen-
buch dedicated to the Old Iranian names).
This substantial attention to the Achaemenid empire is in sharp contrast with the
relatively low degree given to the Neo-­Elamite period. It is only in the last decade,
thanks to new discoveries in the field, that more and more archaeologists, historians
and philologists have started to conduct thorough research on this transitional period
between the Middle Elamite and Achaemenid periods.
Part of this research has concentrated on the presence of Iranians in Neo-­Elamite
Elam, whereby it has become clear that the Iranians were already established in the
whole of Elam during the Neo-­Elamite period. Indeed, it is now recognized that for
many years before the appearance of the Achaemenid Persian empire, there were
close contacts between the Iranian and Elamite populations settled in Elam. This
interaction can easily be considered as formative for the Achaemenid empire and
logically reinforces the link between both periods.
In this chapter, Iranians and Elamites and their relation with each other in both
the Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid periods will be studied. With regard to the Neo-­
Elamite period, a geographical model will be maintained (lowland versus highland),
whereas for the Achaemenid period a more general model can be used.

NEO-­E LAMITE P ERIOD (C. 1 0 0 0 – 5 5 0 B C)

As already mentioned, contrary to the many publications dealing with the Iranian
theonyms, anthroponyms, toponyms, hydronyms, oronyms and loanwords attested
in Achaemenid Elamite texts, little work has been done on the Iranian linguistic
elements in Neo-­Elamite documents. Only Mayrhofer (1971), Hinz (1967), Zadok

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 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

(1984) and Tavernier (2002) have published some notes on them, and a general study
of the presence of Iranian proper names and loanwords in the Neo-­Elamite period
was published by Tavernier (2011). In the latter work, the methodology used to clas-
sify the Iranian proper names and loanwords is the same as has been used for the
study of Iranian elements in non-­Iranian texts from the Achaemenid period (Taver-
nier 2007). Following this system, the Iranica can be divided in four categories:

(1) Directly transmitted Iranica: Names and words that are attested in their Iranian
form (i.e. the Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions).
(2) Semi-­directly transmitted Iranica:
• Names and words that are identical to Iranica from the Achaemenid Royal
Inscriptions but that are attested in a documentary text.
• Proper names and loanwords whose Iranian original is attested in the Ach-
aemenid Royal Inscriptions but which are still slightly different. Such a dif-
ference might be a dialectal one (e.g. Old Persian Ṛtavardiya-­vs. Median
*Ṛtavarziya-­), but contracted or monophthongized equivalents of forms,
belonging to category one, are also included here (e.g. *yanē vs older yanaiy).
(3) Foreign Iranica: Non-­Iranian expressions for which there is no doubt about their
transmission to the Elamites by Old Iranian.
(4) Indirectly transmitted Iranica: Reconstructed Old Iranian proper names and
loanwords.

The Iranica belonging to the last three categories are always marked by an asterisk.
Also note that, due to the lack of Old Iranian texts dating from the Neo-­Elamite
period (the oldest Old Iranian written text is the so-­called Bisotun Inscription
from Darius I), there are no Neo-­Elamite Iranica belonging to the first and third
categories.
Inevitably, there are also names and words that appear to be Iranian but have
many uncertainties. These are brought together in a group called “Incerta,” which is
divided into five subgroups:

(1) Fragmentary names and words.

(2) Hybrids: names and words belonging partly to the Iranian language and partly
to a non-­Iranian language.
(3) Problematic names and words: Iranica whose analysis is problematic.
(4) Dubia: names and words whose Iranian character is uncertain.
(5) Pseudo-­Iranica: names and words that were once believed to be Iranian but
whose Iranian character is now abandoned.

In Neo-­Elamite texts, the first two categories are not represented.

Most specialists believe that the Iranians arrived in Iran around 1000 BC (cf. Wit-
zel 2009 on the Iranian migration in the 2nd millennium BC). The first attestations
of Iranian-­speaking people occur in the Neo-­Assyrian royal inscriptions (annals) of
Ashurnasirpal II (883–859 BC), who confronted Iranian tribes in the Zagros Moun-
tains while expanding the Assyrian territory towards the east. Of these tribes, the
Medes and the Persians are the most frequently attested, appearing repeatedly in the
Assyrian sources (cf. Radner 2013 on the relations between Assyrians and Iranians).

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The oldest attestation of an Iranian element dates to 879 and occurs in an inscrip-
tion from Ashurnasirpal II. There Amika (= Ir. *Am-­ika-­, a hypocoristic of a name
with element *ama-­ “(military) strength”) and Araštua (Ir. *Ṛša-­tavā “Having the
strength of a hero”), two chieftains in the land of Zamua, came into conflict with
the Neo-­Assyrian king. Clearly, this proves Iranian presence in the 9th century in the
Zagros (cf. Radner and Schmitt 1998a and 1998b).
The Medes appear from 835 onwards (kurA-ma-­da-­a-­a; RIMA 3 A.0.102.14:121),
but more interesting for this study is the occurrence, from 843 onwards, of a land
called Pár-­su-­a or Par-­su-­ma-­áš/Par-­su-­ú-­ma-­áš, which is clearly, at least from a lin-
guistic point of view, the predecessor of the later name Pārsa (modern Fārs = Persia),
the region in southwest Iran where the Achaemenid empire would be established.
That these regions were not politically unified is proven by the fact that many kings/
chieftains of various areas are attested. In one passage, Shalmaneser III mentions no
less than 27 kings of the land of Parsua.
In 744 Tiglath-­pileser III (744–726 BC) established two Assyrian provinces in
Iran (Parsua and Bit-­Ḫamban), meaning that for the first time in history the Assyr-
ian Empire controlled territory in the eastern Zagros (Radner 2013: 443). Another
important event is recorded by Ashurbanipal. After having sacked Susa in 646, the
Assyrian king reports that two kings, Kuraš of Parsumash and Pizlume of Hudimiri,
being full of fear after hearing of Ashurbanipal’s powerful and awe-­inspiring deeds,
sent their tribute to Ninive. Kuraš even sent his son Arukku with this tribute.
For a long, time researchers embraced the tempting thought that Kuraš of Parsu-
mash was identical with Cyrus I of Anshan, the grandfather of Cyrus II the Great (cf.
infra). More recently, however, this idea has been rightfully abandoned by scholars
like Miroschedji (1985) and Potts (2005: 18–20, with literature), and it is now gen-
erally accepted that they were not the same person. One of the objections is that if
Cyrus of Parsumash was identical with Cyrus I of Anshan, the grandfather of Cyrus II
and founder of the Achaemenid empire around 550 BC, the reigns of the Anshanite
kings Cyrus I  and Cambyses I  would have been exceptionally long (Miroschedji
1985: 283–285).
In the same way the historical geography was blurred (Miroschedji 1985: 268–
278), as scholars thought that there were no less than three regions Parsua/Parsu-
mash/Parsa: one located to the southwest of Lake Urmia (northern Zagros), one in
the Central Zagros and one in the neighbourhood of Anshan. Cameron, for instance,
believed that the existence of these three regions was a pivotal indication for the
migration route of the Persians towards Fārs: around 815 they moved from the
northern Zagros to the central Zagros, from where they finally arrived in Parsa
(Anshan) during the first half of the 7th century. Again, this idea has been critically
considered and consequently abandoned after it was established that the capital city
of Anshan was located in Tall-­e Malyan, more than 500 km away from the central
Zagros.
Summarizing, it may be accepted that:

(1) Cyrus of Parsumash reigned around 646 over an area situated somewhere in the
central Zagros, whereas Cyrus I reigned in Ashan, modern Fārs.
(2) Both Cyruses cannot be identical because of the aforementioned geographical
and chronological as well as chronological objections.

165
 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

These conclusions have their bearing on the present chapter. They clarify the history
of the Fars region and thereby of the rise of the Achaemenid empire, where Elamites
and Iranians would constitute one single people.
It is the intention of this section to discuss the Iranian presence in the region of
Susa (lowland) and in the region of Anshan (highland). Further on, Iranian presence
in other regions (the region between Susa and Anshan) will also be examined.

Susiana
After the sack of Susa by Ashurbanipal in 646 BC, it probably did not take long for
the kingdom of Susa to re-­emerge, despite Ashurbanipal’s claim that his destruction
of the city was thorough and definitive. Elamite royal and other inscriptions found
in Susa and dated to the period between c.640 and c.550 confirm the existence of a
centralized Susian kingdom. This is corroborated by two other archives found in Susa
and dated to c.600–580 BC. The first one, called the Susa Acropole Archive, consists
of about 300 administrative and economic documents and mentions various officials.
The documents were published by Scheil (MDP 9 1–298 and MDP 11 309). About
ten percent of the personal names occurring in this archive are Iranian (Hinz 1987:
128; Henkelman 2003a: 212). The second archive, consisting of seven documents, is
a legal archive, usually called the Susa Apadana Archive (also published by Scheil in
MDP 11 301–307).
The Susa Acropole Archive provides first-­hand information on the presence of
Iranians in the late Neo-­Elamite period at Susa. In fact, various Iranian anthrop-
onyms (95), toponyms (5) and loanwords (4) clearly attest to the Iranian presence in
Susa and its surroundings. As there are only seven documents contained in the Susa
Apadana Archive, fewer Iranian linguistic elements (personal names, place names,
loanwords) are represented there.
By contrast, the Neo-­Elamite royal inscriptions do not contain any Iranian per-
sonal names, implying that political power was held by ruling families of Elamite
linguistic background. Nevertheless, Iranians may very well have held high adminis-
tration positions within local political systems. In this sense it is a pity that the name
of the highest official mentioned in the archive, Kuddakaka, can be considered either
Iranian or Elamite (Tavernier 2011: 209). The fact that Iranians could have some
social status in Elam is proven by their being owners of seals.
The Susa Acropole texts yield some historical information on the Iranians active
at Susa and surrounding areas (cf. Tavernier 2011: 240–243). They mention three
Persian population groups: *Dātāyana-­(MDP 9 51, 187, 272, 281; named mem-
bers of this tribe are *Patirapa-­, *Teza-­, *Vantuka-­and *Yuvataka-­), Huri (no
named members) and Zambegìr (with only one named member *Spakṛta-­). The
three groups are explicitly called “Persian”, which is also the distinguishing feature
between these groups and the small groups discussed below. Scheil (1907: 17) won-
ders whether they were Persians already living in Susiana before Cyrus’ accession to
the throne or Persian tribes not living in Susiana, but still serving as tributaries to
the Susian king. Unfortunately, a definite answer to this issue is difficult to give, as
both are plausible ideas.
The inhabitants of the kingdom of Susa were probably organized in small popula-
tion groups around one central figure The dependents of these groups are indicated

166
 — Elamites and Iranians —

by adding an Elamite suffix to the name of the central figure, for example, -r (sg.)
or -p (pl.). In this way *Bagabāzu-­ (beBa-­ag-­ba-­šu) is called “the one of the people of
*Kṛpānmā” (beKur-­ru-­ip-­pan-­ma-­pé-­ra; cf. Hinz and Koch 1987: 532) or in MDP 9
133, one has the formula 3 beNap-­tuk-­ip 2 beIr-­da-­ad-­da “3 (subordinates) of *Nap-
taka-­, 2 (subordinates) of *Ṛdata-­”. In MDP 9 133, an anonymous messenger (behu-­
ut-­lak) of *Pāθrāna-­is mentioned.
The attested central figures with Iranian names and their subordinates (if their
name is known) are:

 (1) *Aina-­
 (2) beKa4-gi-­ás-­ba
 (3) *Kamna-­
 (4) *Kṛpānmā (subordinates: *Bagbāzu-­, *Bagrapa-­, *Vananta-­)
 (5) *Manuša-­
 (6) *Naptaka-­
 (7) *Pāθrāna-­ (subordinates: beAd-­da-­te-­en, an unnamed messenger)
 (8) *Rōpāθa-­ (subordinate: beLu-­da-­da)
 (9) *Ṛdata-­
(10) *Θrābuka-­(subordinate: *Bāmkaca-­)
(11) *Θrāya-­
(12) *Vaigana-­ (subordinate: beHa-­mi-­ti-­ra)

Not only individuals bearing Iranian names could be such central figures. People with
Elamite names, too, could have this role. Examples of such individuals are:

(1) be
A-a-­zip-­pi
(2) be
Ak-­ki-­ra-­ra (subordinate: *Bāma-­)
(3) be
Ap-­pa-­la-­a-­a (subordinate: *Xsaparapa-­)
(4) be
Hu-­ban-­ki-­tin
(5) be
Hu-­ban-­hal-­tas
(6) be
La-­li-­in-­tas
(7) be
Su-­un-­ki-­ba-­ki-­iš
(8) be
Um-­be-­nu-­iš

One might be inclined to think that these small groups are also ethnic categories and
that we are dealing here with Iranian or Elamite tribes. This is, however, not very
likely. The main argument against this idea is the fact that some of the central figures
are also mentioned in the Acropole texts as individuals (i.e. tribes or ethnic groups
would more likely be named after eponyms, not after still living individuals). If they
were merely eponyms, their appearance in the texts is relatively unusual. There may
rather be a hierarchic system at work, according to which the central figure is head
of a clan or a business unit.
The socio-­economic role of the people bearing Iranian names is not different from
that of the people bearing Elamite names. They all receive various garments and other
objects such as bows, shafts, spears and so on. They appear as witnesses (*­Arina-­,
*Gitika-­) or as one of the parties in legal texts of the Apadana Archive (mKu-­na-­
ra-­mi-­ka4). Some of the men bearing Iranian names certainly had, however, high

167
 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

socio-­economic positions, as may be deduced from the existence of the central figures
described above and from their ownership of seals.
The individuals with Iranian names apparently had no political power in the king-
dom of Susa. Nevertheless, they could hold important administrative roles. *Arina-­
had the title rab ekalli, a chief palace official; if beKu-­ud-­da-­ka4-ka4 is an Iranian
name, then another high official (arash hutlak) could have been an Iranian. *Hiθika-­
also may have been quite important, since a statue of a god was assigned to him.
People bearing Iranian names could also be subordinates of people with non-­Iranian
names. Overall, it is conspicuous that, despite the rather low number of Iranian per-
sonal names (10%), there are more central figures with an Iranian name than central
figures with a non-­Iranian name.
Despite the close contacts between Elamites and Iranians, the individuals with Ira-
nian names attested in the Acropole texts are often mentioned together; a few texts
have (almost) only Iranian names and it is rare for a text to have only one Iranian name.
Nonetheless, one should not overestimate the Iranian segregation in Elam. On the
contrary, the close contacts are proven by the fact that, as Table 9.1 shows, the people
bearing Iranian names often occur together with those bearing Elamite names. More-
over, if Pír-­na is the Elamite rendering of an Old Iranian name *Farnah-­, as Zadok
(1984: 388) claims, then a person bearing an Iranian name would have had two

Table 9.1  Elamite and Iranian names in MDP texts

Text Iranian names Elamite and other names

MDP 9 11 *Bagrapa-­, *Dayāta-­, *Hvāθris Kuddakaka (if Elamite)
MDP 9 49 *Kṛpānmā Mutiti
MDP 9 51 *Nāfēca-­, *Patirapa-­, *Tēza-­, Kuddakaka (if Elamite)
*Xvarθis, *Yuvātaka-­
MDP 9 63 *Arina-­, *Kṛmi-­, *Manuša-­ –
MDP 9 71 *Arina-­, *Sakidēva-­ Aplaya-­ (Semitic)
MDP 9 94 *Ama-­, *Māda-­ Akšin-­kilik, Anni-­šilha, Atta-­
kitin, Sunki-­bakuš, Unzi-­[],
etc.
MDP 9 101 *Franjana-­, Kagiasba, *Vananta-­ Atta-­Barru
MDP 9 110 *Hadāspa-­, *Pāθrāna-­, *Vṛzvanta-­ Attaten, Humpanta, Napupu
MDP 9 132 *Aspavika-­, *Uvaxstra-­, Halluš, Humpan-­ampa, Kitin-­
*Xsaparapa-­ Humpan, Upuhu
MDP 9 133 *Bagbāzu-­, *Katāna-­, *Pāθrāna-­, –
*Franjana-­, *Ṛdata-­
MDP 9 134 *Pāyu-­, *Sugda-­ Kutup, Lalu-­in-­taš,
Napkilapal
MDP 9 135 *(H)uvataxsa-­, *Miθra-­ Anni, Kikkit, Kutur, Kutur-­ter,
Lalu-­in-­taš

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 — Elamites and Iranians —

Text Iranian names Elamite and other names

MDP 9 145 *Arina-­, *Vēskāma-­, *Vīdamanā Itpun, Ittiti, Mardu-­nukaš
MDP 9 147 *Manuša-­, *Rōpāθka-­, *Zāta-­ Hutradadda, Simimi
MDP 9 148 *Bāmakaca-­, *Kṛpānmā, *Pāθrāna-­ Ittiš, Lillu
MDP 9 157 *Gōmāya-­, *Gōšaya-­, *Kṛpānmā Unsak
MDP 9 160 *Bāma-­, *Vēskāma-­ Akkirara, Hamitira
MDP 9 187 Baksienda, *Bagbādu-­, Mitilaksar, Halluš
*Vantuka-­, *Vṛzvanta-­
MDP 9 199 *Kāra-­, *Maθiya-­, *Pāyuna-­ –
MDP 9 229 *Bṛga-­, *Gōmāya-­, *Gōšaya-­ Hulili
MDP 9 259 *(H)ubṛga-­, *Mazdara-­ 18 Elamite names
MDP 9 289 *Maθāna-­, *Rōpāθka-­ Kursu, Lalu-­sunkik

sons with Elamite names (Simimi and Upuhu). Hinz and Koch (1987: 211) believed
it was an Elamite name, but without presenting an Elamite etymology. In fact, there
is a convincing Iranian etymology, and an Elamite one is very difficult to find, so it
may, despite Tavernier’s (2011: 209) doubts, very well be an Iranian name. This only
enhances the intensity of Elamo-­Iranian contacts and integration at that time.
For the sake of completeness, it should be noted that the region of Susiana was not
just populated by Iranians or Elamites. In the Acropole Archive two kings of a peo-
ple called Zari are mentioned: Aplaya-­is called “king of the Zarians” (MDP 9 71:2;
[su]nki ašZa-­ri-­pé-­ra), as well as beMar-­tuk (MDP 9 80:3; sunki ašZa-­ri-­pé-­[r]a). Both
names (Aplaya-­and Marduk) are Akkadian, which supports Henkelman’s (2003b:
257) thesis that the Zarians might have been an “Aramaic or Chaldaean tribe on the
south-­western fringe of Khuzestan”.2 It may be that the border region of Susiana and
Mesopotamia was inhabited by Aramaean and Chaldaean tribes. Babylonians also
occur in an administrative text, recorded in Akkadian and containing only Babylo-
nian names, dated to the 15th year of Hallutaš-­Inšušinak II, king of Elam (probably
the end of the 7th century BC). The text, concerning an adoption of a girl, clearly
emanates from a Babylonian community in the town of Sumundunaš in the Susiana
region. Another text (PTS 2713; Stolper 1986: 236) again only has Babylonian names
and was drafted in the first year of the same king Hallutaš-­Inšušinak II in the town of
Bīt-­Ḫulummu. Of a third text dated to this king (VS 4 1; cf. San Nicolò and Ungnad
1935: 199 no.165), the exact date and place where it was drafted are lost. The exis-
tence of an “assembly of the Babylonians” in the town of Hidalu is demonstrated by a
text (Leichty 1983: 154) dated to the accession year of Tammaritu, the king installed
in Hidalu by Ashurbanipal around 653 BC.

Anshan
The date of the arrival of the Iranian immigrants in the region of Anshan (modern
Fārs) is difficult to determine. The texts are silent on the population movements,

169
 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

and the archaeology is not very helpful either. In fact, there are no signs of seden-
tary occupation in Anshan between the late Middle Elamite and Achaemenid periods
(Potts 1999: 262). An explanation for this is that the people living in Anshan were
probably semi-­nomadic and therefore more difficult to trace in the archaeological
records (Miroschedji 1985: 289–292).3 Nevertheless, a date around 1000 BC seems
to be quite plausible (Miroschedji 1985: 292).
Since about 1500 BC the number of settlements in the Anshan region had started
to decline, while at the same time new types of ceramics appeared. These two devel-
opments imply a greater role played by nomadism but should not be linked to the
immigration of Iranian-­speaking tribes (Miroschedji 1985: 290). It remains true,
however, that the Iranians could have benefited from this nomadisation by settling
themselves in the area.4
In the 10th century BC this depopulation was at its maximum, as demonstrated by
the fact that only at two sites (and in small numbers) Iron Age II sherds were found in
the Anshan region. Moreover, for the 7th century there is no archaeological evidence
in the area, except for the reliefs of Kurangun and Naqsh-­e Rustam, again confirming
a high level of pastoralist nomadism (Miroschedji 1985: 292).
If the date of the Iranian arrival in Fārs around 1000 BC is correct, contacts between
Elamites and Iranians existed since this date, although not much is known of them.
These contacts are also illustrated by the fact that troops from Anshan as well as
troops from Parsuaš fought together in the battle of Ḫalule in 691 BC against the
Neo-­Assyrian king Sennacherib (Waters 2011: 286). It was in this period that the
process of “ethnogénèse des Perses” (Miroschedji 1985: 295) was ongoing, which
would culminate in the Elamo-­Persian culture of the Achaemenid Empire.
The political status of Anshan and its surroundings in the 7th century is not clear,
despite Miroschedji’s hypothesis (1985: 304) that Anshan still belonged to the king-
dom of Susa (in his eyes, this control lasted until 646). The authority of the Susian
kingdom over Anshan must have been very lax (Miroschedji 1985: 291). In the con-
text of a weaker Susian kingdom (certainly after the Assyrian attack of 646), a new
Anshanite kingdom was established around 635 BC (Miroschedji 1985: 284 and
304). Its first king was called Teispes (hence the name “Teispid kingdom”), who was
a direct forebear of Cyrus II, the founder of the Teispid/Achaemenid empire. One can
find this genealogy on the famous Cyrus cylinder, a royal inscription in which Cyrus
II justifies his conquering of Babylonia.
Teispes would be succeeded by Cyrus I, of whom the seal is still preserved (cf.
the most recent collation by Waters [2011: 290] which, however, does not yield a
plausible result) and who reigned c.610–585 BC. His successors were Cambyses I
(c.585–559 BC) and the well-­known Cyrus II (c.559–530 BC), who would establish
the Teispid/Achaemenid empire. These kings (or, at least, Cyrus II) most likely bore
the royal title “King of Anshan”, as is clear from inter alia the Cyrus Cylinder (Miro-
schedji 1985: 296–298). Actually, the title “King of Parsa”, was only in use from
the reign of Darius I (521–486 BC) onwards. Note also that from then on the name
Anshan is attested only once again, in the Bisitun inscription (Waters 2011: 287).
It is not within the scope of this chapter to discuss the beginnings of the kingdom
of Anshan and its relation with its successor, the Achaemenid Empire. Many scholars
have already dedicated time and energy to this debate (cf. recently Quintana 2011,
Vallat 2011 and Waters 2011, to name but a few).

170
 — Elamites and Iranians —

More interesting is to have a look at the ethnic character of the ruling dynasty of
this Anshanite kingdom. From the ethnic point of view, a highly interesting devel-
opment can now be seen in Fars, where Elamite and Iranians (Persians) had already
lived together for centuries. It is difficult to assess the principal ethnicity of the king-
dom itself. Was it an Elamite kingdom, or an Iranian one? The truth lies most likely
somewhere in the middle and the idea of an “ethnogénèse des Perses”, as Miroschedji
(1985: 295) calls it, is, admittedly, quite attractive. It postulates a gradual melting
together of the Iranians and the Elamites, creating a new people, traditionally called
Persians. It is out of this amalgamation process that the Achaemenid culture would
be born.
With regard to the material culture, one rather sees an Elamite culture. For instance,
seals are in a Neo-­Elamite style. The first seal in Achaemenid style dates from the
reign of Darius I. Nevertheless, the material and artistic culture of Susa and Anshan
was not different in the 7th and 6th centuries and must be called Neo-­Elamite rather
than Iranian (Miroschedji 1985: 300–301).
The textual sources, too, may give us some information on the character of the
Teispid culture. First of all, the royal names Teispes (Old Persian Cišpiš, Elamite
Sešpeš or Zišpiš [Achaemenid]) and Cyrus (Old Persian Kuruš, Elamite Kuraš) can
most likely not be attributed to the Iranian language family. Rather (certainly con-
cerning the name of Cyrus) they are Elamite, which enhances the idea that the Teispid
kingdom was not purely Iranian. Note also that the first version of the Bisitun inscrip-
tion was the Elamite one and that it was only later that the Old Persian was added
(Miroschedji 1985: 301; Huyse 1999).
Further evidence for an ethnically mixed kingdom is found in the Persepolis For-
tification and Treasure Archives, the texts of which are drafted in Elamite, proving
that the administration set up by Cyrus II in the Anshanite region was originally an
Elamite one (Miroschedji 1985: 301–302). The officials probably mastered the two
languages (Elamite and Old Persian), as the Elamite texts are flooded by Iranian
anthroponyms, toponyms and loanwords (cf. Tavernier 2007), showing a large Ira-
nian presence in the Kur River basin by the reign of Darius I. Moreover, the Elamite
texts are also syntactically influenced by Old Persian, for example, concerning word
order.

Elsewhere in Elam
Susa and Anshan were not the only regions with a mixed population. It can easily
be expected that the regions in between and around them also saw the arrival of
Iranian-­speaking people. Unfortunately, the textual record of these regions is not very
abundant.
In light of this situation, one can only welcome the appearance of various objects
found in the so-­called Kalmākarra Cave in Lorestān. These objects are usually called
the “Kalmākarra Hoard” (Henkelman 2003a: 214–227) and date from the first half
of the 6th century BC. Some of the objects bear a label/ownership inscription, which
is of interest for this study.
The small inscriptions give us more information on the state of Samati, inhabitants
of which are also mentioned in the Susa Acropole Archive. In MDP 9 94, 12 Sama-
tians receive kuktu-­garments. Two of the 12 individuals (*Ama-­and *Māda-­) bear

171
 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

Iranian names, whereas the ten others have Elamite names.5 This pattern is confirmed
in the inscriptions from the Kalmākarra Cave, where, of the 24 personal names, three
are Iranian: *Gītiya-­, *Hamfrīš and *Tapala-­(cf. Vallat 2000, Henkelman 2003a:
222, Tavernier 2011: 199 no. 2.2.24, 199 no. 2.2.1.28, and 205 no. 2.2.1.67). These
individuals even occupy high ranks in the Samatian society: *Hamfrīš is king of
Samati, whereas *Tapala-­is his father and *Gītiya-­is named as father of Unsak,
another Samatian king. Interesting for the acculturation between Elamites and Irani-
ans is that the brother of *Hamfrīš has an Elamite name (Anni-­šilhak) and that two
of *Hamfrīš’s sons also have Elamite names (Ahtir6 and Unzi-­kilik). This means that
the acculturation was also active in the ruling dynasty, with its mixed onomasticon
(Henkelman 2003a: 224).
Other non-­Iranian names occurring in these texts are Aksimarti, Abu-­līti,7 Aspe,
Attasapir, Huban, Hunzak, Indapipi, Ipunukaš, Lalintaš, Pirri, Sapparak, Simima,
Turhakra and Umbadudu.
The personal names that occur in both the Kalmākarra inscriptions and the Neo-­
Elamite texts from Susa are *Hamfriš, Annišilha(k), Lalintas, Pirri, Umbadudu,
Unsak and Untaš. In all probability, Unzi-[ ] should be restored to beUn-­zí-­[ki-­li-­ik]
(Vallat 1996), because the element unzi only occurs in this name. Vallat (1996; also
Henkelman 2003a: 222 fn. 149) strongly believes in prosopographical identifications
of these names, but this is not so easily accepted.
The strongest case is Anni-­šilhak, the brother of *Hamfriš and king of Samati,
called “Samatian” in an Acropole text. If one individual is involved here, this would
mean that the kingdoms of Susa and Samati had well-­established contacts. This
would be corroborated if *Hamfris the king of Samati is the same as *Hamfris who
is mentioned in the Acropole texts. The latter is the father of beHu-­ban-­rás-­ma.
The style of the objects belonging to the “Kalmakarra Hoard” has many parallels
in Achaemenid art. This, combined with the onomastic evidence, may point to a high
degree of acculturation between Elamites and Iranians in Samati (Boucharlat 1998:
149–150; Henkelman 2003a: 222).
Finally, one must also mention the few Iranian elements in the Neo-­Elamite letter
corpus, consisting of the so-­called Nineveh letters plus two letters found in Susa but
belonging to the same archive (MDP 9 88 and MDP 36 79; cf. Tavernier 2004: 39).
A group of Persians is mentioned in BA 4 177 no. 2:13. The Iranian name *(H)ubīza-­
(spelled Ú-pi-­iz-­za) occurs in another letter (Tavernier 2011: 200 no. 2.2.1.3). One of
the four Iranian loanwords attested in Neo-­Elamite texts (the other occurring in the
Susa Acropole Archive), being Old Persian *xšaça-­(spelled šá-­ah-­šá), is also attested
in a Nineveh letter (Tavernier 2011: 195 no. 2.1.3.2). This again proves the estab-
lished Iranian presence in Elam around 600 BC.

AB B REVIATIO NS
BA Beiträge zur Assyriologie und vergleichenden semitischen Sprachwissenschaft.
MDP 9 Administrative tablets from the Acropole of Susa published in Scheil
1907.
MDP 11 Elamite inscriptions and tablets in Scheil 1911.
MDP 36 Elamite tablets in Paper 1954.
PTS Persepolis Treasury Seal.

172
 — Elamites and Iranians —

RIMA 3 Grayson, A.K. 1997. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC
II (858–745 BC), The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Peri-
ods 3. Toronto: University of Toronto.
VS Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmaler der Königlichen Museen zu Berlin.

NOTE S
1 This research has been funded by the Interuniversity Attraction Poles Programme initiated
by the Belgian Science Policy Office (IAP VII/14: “Greater Mesopotamia: Reconstruction of
its Environment and History”).
2 On the precise character of the relation between Aplaya and Marduk, see Gorris 2014, §6.3.
3 This is in contrast with the northern and central Zagros, where the arrival of Iranian-­
speaking tribes is archaeologically attested (Miroschedji 1985: 289, who dates this arrival to
1500 BC).
4 According to Miroschedji (1985: 291), the late Middle Elamite temple and palace of Anshan
(Tall-­e Malyan) were nothing more than an “ilôt de civilisation susienne dans une ville en
voie de désurbanisation et dans une région en voie de depopulation”.
5 Anni-­šilhak, Sunki-­bakiš, Akšin-­kilik, Atta-­kitin, Arra-[ ], Kašla, Atta-[ ], Unzi-[ ] and Itnak.
One name is lost.
6 Cf. Tavernier 2011: 242 fn. 58.
7 Cf. Tavernier 2011: 242 and fn. 59.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
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1  =  In: Córdoba Zoilo, J.M. (ed.) Actas del I  Symposium Internacional. Una década de
estudios sobre el Oriente antiguo (1986–1996). Madrid: Universidad Autónoma, 143–158.
Gorris, E. 2014. Power and Politics in the Neo-­Elamite Kingdom, 2 vols. PhD Diss., Université
catholique de Louvain, Louvain-­la-­Neuve.
Henkelman, W. 2003a. Persians, Medes and Elamites. Acculturation in the Neo-­Elamite Period.
In: Lanfranchi, G.B., Roaf, M. and Rollinger, R. (eds.) Continuity of Empire (?). Assyria,
Media, Persia, History of the Ancient Near East. Monographs 5. Padova: S.a.r.g.o.n., 181–
231 and Pls. 9–15.
———. 2003b. Defining Neo-­Elamite History. Bibliotheca Orientalis 60/3–4, cols. 251–263.
Hinz, W. 1967. Zu den Zeughaustäfelchen aus Susa. In: Festschrift für Wilhelm Eilers. Ein Doku-
ment der internationalen Forschung zum 27. September 1966, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 85–98.
———. 1987. Elams Übergang ins Perserreich. In: Transition Periods in Iranian History. Actes
du symposium de Fribourg-­en-­Brisgau (22–24 mai 1985), Studia Iranica, Cahier 5. Leuven:
Peeters, 125–134.
Hinz, W. and Koch, H. 1987. Elamisches Wörterbuch, Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran,
Ergänzungsband 17. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer.
Huyse, Ph. 1999. Some Further Thoughts on the Bisitun Monument and the Genesis of the Old
Persian Cuneiform Script. Bulletin of the Asia Institute N.S. 13, 45–66.
Leichty, E. 1983. Bel-­epuš and Tammaritu. Anatolian Studies 33: 153–155.
Mayrhofer, M. 1971. Aus der Namenwelt Alt-­Irans. Die zentrale Rolle der Namenforschung
in der Linguistik des Alt-­Iranischen, Innsbrucker Beriträge zur Sprachwissenschaft Vorträge
3. Innsbruck (reprinted in Mayrhofer, M. 1979. Ausgewählte Kleine Schriften, Wiesbaden:
Reichert, 127–141).
Miroschedji, P. de 1985. La fin du royaume d’Anšan et de Suse et la naissance de l’Empire
perse. Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie 75: 265–306.

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Paper, H.H. 1954. Note préliminaire sur la date des trois tablettes élamites de Suse. In: Ghirsh-
man, R. (ed.) Village perse-­achéménide, Mémoires de la Mission Archéologique en Iran 36.
Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 79–82 and Pl. XXIV.
Potts, D.T. 1999. The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient
Iranian State (Cambridge World Archaeology). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
———. 2005. Cyrus the Great and the Kingdom of Anshan. In: Curtis, V.S. and Stewart, S.
(eds.) Birth of the Persian Empire, The Idea of Iran 1. London – New York: I.B. Tauris, 7–28.
Quintana, E. 2011. Elamitas Frente a Persas: el Reino Independiente de Anšan. In: Álvarez-­
Mon, J. and Garrison, M.B. (eds.) Elam and Persia. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 167–190.
Radner, K. 2013. Assyria and the Medes. In: D.T. Potts (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Ancient
Iran. Oxford – New York: Oxford University Press, 442–456.
Radner, K. and Schmitt, R. 1998a. Ameka. In: Radner, K. (ed.) The Prosopography of the Neo-­
Assyrian Empire 1/I. Helsinki: The Neo-­Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 100.
———. 1998b. Araštua. In: Radner, K. (ed.) The Prosopography of the Neo-­Assyrian Empire
1/I. Helsinki: The Neo-­Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 124.
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Rechts-­und Wirtschaftsurkunden der Berliner Museen aus vorhellenistischer Zeit. Leipzig:
J.C. Hinrichs.
Scheil, V. 1907. Textes élamites-­anzanites. Troisième série, Délégation en Perse, Mémoires 9.
Paris: Ernest Leroux.
———. 1911. Textes élamites-­anzanites. Quatrième série, Délégation en Perse, Mémoires 11.
Paris: Ernest Leroux.
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Gasche, H. and Vallat, F. (eds.) Fragmentae Historiae Elamicae. Mélanges offerts à M.J.
Steve. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 235–241.
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Utilitaires 2002/79.
———. 2004. Some Thoughts on Neo-­Elamite Chronology. ARTA 2004.003, 44 pp.
———. 2007. Iranica in the Achaemenid Period (ca. 550–330 B.C.). Lexicon of Old Iranian
Proper Names and Loanwords, Attested in Non-­Iranian Texts, Orientalia Lovaniensia Ana-
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———. 2011. Iranians in Neo-­Elamite Texts. In: Álvarez-­Mon, J. and Garrison, M.B. (eds.)
Elam and Persia. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 191–262.
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———. 2000. Une inscription élamite sur un rhyton en argent à tête de bélier. Akkadica 116:
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———. 2011. Darius, l’héritier légitime, et les premiers Achéménides. In: Álvarez-­Mon, J. and
Garrison, M.B. (eds.) Elam and Persia. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 263–284.
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forschung N.F. 19, 385–389.

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 PART III

ELAM THROUGH HISTORY

 CHAPTER TEN

THE BIRTH OF ELAM IN HISTORY

Piotr Steinkeller

INTRODU CTIO N
Due to the virtual absence of pertinent written data from Iran, a reconstruction of the
earliest history of Elam must necessarily rely on the testimony of Babylonian cune-
iform sources. With the exception of the prehistoric age, our discussion also leaves
out archaeological data. The time span covered here is the Late Uruk through the Ur
III periods.
Like many other modern terms for the lands of the ancient Near East, the top-
onym Elam was bequeathed to Western civilization by the Bible, under the form of
‘êlām. This Hebrew term derives ultimately from the Sumerian word Elam (Akkadian
Elamtu), an exonym that was used by the dwellers of Babylonia as a designation of
the Iranian highlands and of the various ethnic groups living there.1 As employed in
3rd millennium sources, this designation generally excludes Khuzestan (the Susiana
and Deh Luran plains), where the cities of Susa, Arawa (Uru’a), Uru’az, AdamDUN,
Awan and Mishime (Pashime) were located. However, already in the Early Dynastic
(ED) IIIb sources from Lagash (see Early Dynastic Period), Elam is occasionally used
as a broad description of the entire eastern flank of southern Babylonia.
Since the ED IIIb period, if not earlier, Elam also served as a general and convenient
label for the dwellers of the Iranian highlands, meaning “highlander” or the like.2 This
usage is particularly common in Ur III sources, where Elam indiscriminately describes
the natives of AdamDUN, Sabum, Huhnuri, Kimash, Hurti, Shimashki, Anshan, Mar-
hashi (Parahshum) and many other places situated on the Iranian plateau (Notizia
2009). Although some of these ethnic groups undoubtedly were Elamite speakers (or
used languages or dialects related to Elamite), it is clear that, in this particular appli-
cation, the term Elam is devoid of ethnic connotations.
Among the native designations of the Iranian plateau and its population, the earli-
est such term, which is documented since Sargonic times, is Awan. As far as it can be
ascertained, Awan denoted southeastern Khuzestan and the adjoining Iranian high-
lands, extending to the east as far as Anshan and Marhashi (Parahshum). The native
nature of this term (which practically never appears in Babylonian sources) is demon-
strated by the fact that two of the rulers of Elam Sargon faced during his campaigns in

177
Figure 10.1  Map of Middle Asia during the 3rd millennium BC.
 — The birth of Elam in history —

Iran are identified, in an Old Babylonian source from Susa, as members of the Awan
dynasty (see Sargonic Period, Introductory Remarks). Moreover, the title of the “king
of Awan” was later used by Puzur-­Inshushinak, clearly in reflection of his possession
of Khuzestan and the neighboring highlands (see Post-­Sargonic Period). These data
practically assure that “Awan” is a native correspondent of the Babylonian “Elam”,
both terms describing roughly the same geographical area – and, during the periods
in question, the same political organism. It is unknown, however, whether Awan also
carried ethnic and linguistic connotations. Another native word for this part of Iran
is Hatamti or Haltamti, which is documented with certainty only since OB times.3

LATE URUK P E RIO D

Our only clues about the history of Iran during the 4th millennium BC are provided
by archaeological data, in particular, the evidence of the “Uruk Expansion”. This
immensely interesting historical and cultural phenomenon, which can roughly be
dated to ca. 3500–3100 BC, involved a migration of significant numbers of people
from southern Babylonia into its periphery. These individuals subsequently estab-
lished a network of colonies, which, as far as it can be ascertained, functioned mainly,
but certainly not exclusively, as trading outposts. Because of their proximity to Bab-
ylonia, and of their being, in geomorphological terms, an extension the Babylonian
floodplain, the regions that had been particularly strongly impacted by the “Uruk
Expansion” were the Khuzestan and Deh Luran plains, to the extent that their mate-
rial culture, represented at such sites as Susa and Choga Mish, is virtually indistin-
guishable from that found in contemporary southern Babylonia. A likely reflection of
this early Babylonian presence in Khuzestan is the fact that the name of the chief deity
of Susa, Inshushinak, almost certainly derives from that of the goddess Inana, the
patron of Uruk and the most important deity of Late Uruk times.4 Since the ultimate
source of the “Uruk Expansion” unquestionably was the city of Uruk, it logically was
during that particular time that Inana’s cult had been carried from Uruk to Susa.5
Apart from Khuzestan, the “Uruk Expansion” left its imprint on various other places
in western and central Iran, most notably the site of Godin Tepe in the central Zagros.
The collapse of the “Uruk Expansion”, which was sudden and complete in its con-
sequences, affected Khuzestan as well. As elsewhere in the periphery, in Khuzestan,
too, Babylonian presence came to an abrupt end, with the native cultural traditions
re-­emerging and coming to the fore again. It appears that one of the outcomes of this
transformation was the creation of a native form of writing, a development that may
have even represented a reaction against the Babylonian domination of Khuzestan.
Labeled “Proto-­Elamite”, this script is known primarily from the tablets excavated
at Susa. In all likelihood, therefore, it was there that this script had been invented.
However, examples of it have also been found in other parts of Iran – at Tell Malyan
(ancient Anshan) in Fars, Tepe Sialk in the Esfahan province, Ozbaki near Tehran,
Tepe Yahya in Kerman and Shahr-­i Sokhta in Sistan – demonstrating an amazingly
wide geographical distribution of this phenomenon. Although clearly inspired by the
proto-­cuneiform writing of Late Uruk times6 in its choice of signs and because of its
other peculiarities, “Proto-­Elamite” markedly diverges from the Babylonian proto-
type. This may have been intentional, perhaps to emphasize the independence of its
users from Babylonia and its culture.7 Unfortunately, this script, which likely records

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an early form of the Elamite language, still remains largely undeciphered. For the
historian, the greatest interest of “Proto-­Elamite” tablets lies in their wide geograph-
ical distribution, which suggests that the people who wrote them had adopted not
only the Babylonian accounting practices but also the organizational concepts of the
“Uruk Expansion”, creating as a result their own, pan-­Iranian network of commer-
cial outposts. Be that as it may, the “Proto-­Elamite” writing was a short-­lived exper-
iment, which probably did not survive into Early Dynastic times.

EARLY DYNASTIC PERIO D (2 9 0 0 – 2 3 5 0 )

First certain mentions of Elam and its population appear in the Babylonian texts dat-
ing to the Early Dynastic IIIb period (2500–2350 BC).8 However, as we have seen ear-
lier, Iran and Babylonia enjoyed close cultural and economic contacts already in Late
Uruk times. Such exchanges undoubtedly continued, though probably on a smaller
scale, during the Early Dynastic I and II periods. Among the data demonstrating this
point are the finds, in the Babylonian contexts dating to ED II, of decorated chlorite
vessels stemming from Kerman (ancient Marhashi/Parahshum). Of special interest
here is a piece from Adab, which bears an inscription of the ED II king of Kish
named Me-­silim (Frayne 2008: 71, Me-­silim 3).9 Another proof of the commercial
contacts between Iran and Babylonia during that time are the impressions of cylinder
seals excavated at the site of Konar Sandal in the Halil Rud valley (Kerman), whose
designs are practically identical to those known from the ED I/II Ur (Madjidzadeh
and Pittman 2008: 99–100). Undoubtedly, these sealings accompanied merchandise
that had been exported from Babylonia to southeastern Iran.
Our knowledge of political contacts between Elam and Babylonia during ED IIIa is
very limited. Such information comes almost exclusively from Lagash sources. These
record only two military conflicts with Elam. The first of them occurred during the
reign of E-anatum (ca. 2400 BC) and involved E-anatum’s military operations against
Susa and a number of other cities located in Khuzestan, among them Arawa (Uru’a),
Uru’az and Pashime (Mishime) (Frayne 2008: 126–158, E-anatum 1, 5, 6, 7a, 8 and
9).10 Since E-anatum claims to have sacked and destroyed the latter cities, it appears
certain that he actually campaigned in the Susiana. In the same inscriptions, E-anatum
also repeatedly boasts of having defeated “the land of Elam” and to have subjugated it
(as well as Shubur = Assyria) to the god Ningirsu. It is unlikely, however, that E-anatum
campaigned in the highlands, his conflict with Elam probably having been of a purely
defensive nature. Apparently, this engagement was part of a larger war, which was
waged against the city-­state of Lagash by a coalition consisting of Akshak, Kish, Mari,
Elam, Shubur and Arawa (Frayne 2008: 145–152, E-anatum 5 and 6). This coalition
invaded Lagash’s territory, with one of the battles, specifically involving Elam, Shubur
and Arawa, having been fought at a Lagash location called Asuhur. The defensive
nature of this engagement is revealed by E-anatum’s own testimony, according to
which “he sent the Elamite back to his land” (Frayne 2008: 145–149, E-anatum 5 vi
8).11 It is possible that this conflict with Elam was causally connected with the afore-
mentioned campaign in Khuzestan, with the latter event having been a consequence
of E-anatum’s successful repulsion of the foreign armies from the city-­state of Lagash.
The other conflict with Elam, in which the Elamites likewise were the aggressor,
occurred during the reign of En-­entarzi, E-anatum’s successor by two generations.

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According to a letter addressed to En-­entarzi (Sollberger 1956 46, Enz. 1), a band of
600 Elamites conducted a raid on the city of Lagash. Following the raid, the attackers
tried to retreat to Elam with their loot. They were subsequently intercepted at the sea
port of Gu’abba (= E-Ninmar) by the head of the temple household of the goddess of
Ninmar, who defeated them in battle, managing to recover some of the looted goods.
These Elamite invaders probably followed a sea route: from the Susiana over the
Karun to the Persian Gulf, then along the coast to Gu’abba, from where they contin-
ued (probably also on ships) to Lagash. For Gu’abba, see below.
Apart from these two episodes, the only other case of a military conflict between
Elam and Babylonia is documented in the inscription of an ED IIIb king of Kish
named Enna-­il, who claims to have defeated Elam (Frayne 2008: 75–76, Enna-­il 1
and 2).
The existence of hostilities between Elam and Kish in ED IIIb times is further sug-
gested by the “Sumerian King List” (henceforth SKL) lines 83–5, which alleges that
En-­mebaragesi, a member of the First Dynasty of Kish, “made the land of Elam to lay
down its weapons”. However, since SKL’s coverage of ED times is practically devoid
of any historical value, this information cannot be trusted. Moreover, this anecdote
about En-­mebaragesi is not included in the Ur III version of SKL (Steinkeller 2003),
thus showing that it was a later (probably an Old Babylonian) addition.
Perhaps of greater significance is the fact that SKL lines 146–159 includes, between
the First Dynasty of Ur and Second Dynasty of Kish, a separate Awan dynasty, assign-
ing to it three kings (whose names are not preserved). While it is doubtful that, until
the advent of Puzur-­Inshushinak (see Post-­Sargonic Period), Awan had succeeded in
establishing any form of political hegemony over Babylonia, it is possible that it was
an important Iranian polity already in Early Dynastic times. Here one notes the fact
that the “Awan King List” (for which see Sargonic Period, Introductory Remarks)
enumerates several rulers (kings nos. 1–7, the predecessors of Luhhishshan, the con-
temporary of Sargon) whose reigns – if indeed those were historical figures – would
have belonged to the late Early Dynastic period. For the location of Awan and its role
in later 3rd millennium history, see Sargonic Period, Introductory Remarks.
In this connection, one might also mention the figure of Lugal-­anemunDU, whom
SKL lines 205–210 lists as the sole king of the dynasty of Adab. Lugal-­anemunDU is
also the subject of an Old Babylonian literary composition (Güterbock 1934: 40–47),
which ascribes to him the creation of an empire, extending from the Mediterranean
to the Iranian plateau, and embracing within its scope the lands of Elam and Mar-
hashi (the latter ruled by a governor named Migir-­Enlil). But since the existence of
such an Adab ruler finds no corroboration in any other data, one may confidently
conclude that both Lugal-­anemunDU and his alleged exploits are poetic inventions
which were perpetrated sometime in Old Babylonian times (for reasons that com-
pletely escape us).
While the political contacts between Iran and Babylonia are documented exceed-
ingly poorly, there survives extensive information on the commercial exchanges
between these two lands (Selz 1991). This information comes nearly exclusively from
Lagash sources. These demonstrate the existence of a flowering trade between the
city-­state of Lagash and Elam, with the latter term denoting broadly Khuzestan and
the abutting highlands. As shown by the data extant, commercial exchanges between
Lagash and its eastern neighbors were conducted primarily over river and sea routes.

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A key element of this system was the seaport and ship-­building center of Gu’abba
(alternatively known as E-Ninmar), which, at least in the Ur III period, was also
the site of a major textile-­producing operation, probably the largest such center in
the Ur III empire (Steinkeller 2013c; Laursen and Steinkeller 2017). Gu’abba was
situated directly on the coast of the Persian Gulf, and was linked to Lagash and the
other major urban centers of this city-­state (Girsu, Nimin and Sirara) by a single
waterway, named Id-­Niminki-­še3-du, “Canal flowing to Nimin” (Steinkeller 2013c;
Maekawa 2016; Laursen and Steinkeller 2017). From Gu’abba, the traffic proceeded
along two main sea routes. The first of them skirted the Iranian coast to the mouth of
the Karun river. From there it followed over the Karun into Khuzestan, from where
the overland routes leading into southeastern Iran could be accessed. The city of
Pashime (Mishime), which lay on the seacoast (see above n. 10), could be reached by
the Lagash ships from Gu’abba directly. The other route commencing at Gu’abba,
which was of equal importance, led to Tilmun (Failaka, Tarut, and Bahrain), and
then, following the Iranian coast, to Makkan (Oman Peninsula and the coastal area
of modern Abu Dhabi).
Through the use of the Lagash  – Gu’abba  – Karun connection, large quantities
of barley and other commodities were shipped from Lagash to Khuzestan and the
places situated further east. In the ED IIIb texts from Lagash, all these destinations
are usually subsumed under the label “Elam”. Particularly informative here is the
tablet Nikolski 1 310 (date not preserved), which lists 14 individual shipments of
merchandise that were sent to Elam by a group of Lagash merchants. Since the tablet
makes no mention of Lagash officialdom, these individuals may have been indepen-
dent businessmen who formed a merchant guild or a similar type of association.
Some of the persons appearing in this text bear unmistakably foreign names (such as
Budashir, Kakaritah and Ururimashak). These probably were “Elamite” partners of
the Lagash traders. The merchandise included in these shipments consisted mainly of
barley, with its total probably exceeding 500 bushels. The largest recorded shipment,
in the amount of 120 bushels, was meant for the ensik of Arawa (who bore the good
Sumerian name of Si4-kug). Apart from barley, this shipment also included a quan-
tity (one mina) of tin bronze. An even larger volume of barley exported to Elam is
recorded in Nikolski 1 85, which, in this case, involved merchants working for the
Lagash royalty. According to this tablet, the chief merchant of the ruler of Lagash
named Lugal-­anda transferred, in exchange for wool, 270 bushels of barley to his
counterpart in employ of Lugal-­anda’s wife. The latter merchant transported it as
merchandise to Elam.
Other Lagash exports named in Nikolski 1 310 are pig fat, perfumed oil, flour,
wool and silver. These commodities match closely the types of merchandise Babylonia
exported to the Gulf region during the later 3rd millennium, especially to Tilmun and
Makkan (Laursen and Steinkeller 2017). Although specific information is lacking, it
appears certain that, during the period in question, Lagash was also an exporter of
textiles, which were a major Babylonian export to those regions in Ur III times.
Among Lagash’s imports from Elam one finds alkali and various types of spices.
The former was imported in large quantities (75 and 60 bushels in RTC 20 and 21,
respectively). Although timber is reported in only two instances (DP 423 and 486,
which record deliveries of processed timber by two “sailors” from Elam), by anal-
ogy with the Ur III situation (see Ur III Period), its imports must have been very

182
 — The birth of Elam in history —

substantial. Two related texts from the reign of Lugal-­anda (DP 370 and 371) men-
tion a single delivery of the “flax of Susa”, which probably denotes a variety of flax
grown in Khuzestan. Interestingly, this flax appears to have come from Lugal-­anda’s
subsistence fields in the city of Arawa. This suggests that, at that particular time,
Lagash controlled Arawa politically. A possible corroboration of this is provided by
the fact that, shortly earlier, a head of the temple household of Ningirsu named Dudu
obtained a bituminous stone12 from Arawa (Frayne 2008: 232–233, En-­metena 28).
Although this is the only mention of the imports of bitumen in Lagash documen-
tation, it is certain that Khuzestan was the regular supplier of bitumen and related
products to Lagash and other southern city-­states during this period.
Somewhat surprisingly, in one instance one also reads of the purchase of a small
number of cows from Elam (Nikolski 1 214). Much more common must have been
imports of slaves, but only one such transaction is explicitly recorded (a group of
blind men acquired in Uru-­az; DP 339 viii:2). See also below for the slaves purchased
in Der.
Indirect information on the commercial contacts with Elam is provided by the
references to the Lagash merchants purchasing slaves, equids and spices in the border
city of Der (DP 239, 513, and 516). Since this extremely important strategic point
provided access both to Khuzestan and the Great Khurasan Road (Steinkeller 2013a:
306–307 and Figure 2), it is certain that the merchandise in question had originated
in the Iranian highlands. Interestingly, one of these records (DP 516) differentiates
between the “long distance trade in spices” and that involving slaves. This attests to
the high degree of commercial specialization that existed in Iran at that time.
In summary, the final phase of the Early Dynastic period saw a great deal of contact
between Khuzestan and the city-­state of Lagash. This contact was mainly of a com-
mercial nature, though it probably also involved significant population movements.
One may be confident that the cities of Khuzestan had significant Sumero-­Akkadian
populations, and that there was a steady immigration of small numbers of “Elamites”
into Babylonia, some of whom had been brought there as slaves. Although explicit
textual evidence to that effect is lacking, it is highly probable that similar contacts
existed between Khuzestan and its other Babylonian neighbors, the city-­states of
Umma and Adab. The fact that the extant records do not mention any Iranian high-
land polities known from the later periods (such as Anshan, Sherihum and Marhashi)
plausibly suggests that, in that period, the commercial penetration of Iran at the
hands of Babylonians was confined to Khuzestan. Although it cannot be excluded
that some Babylonian merchants occasionally ventured further east, it appears that
the commercial exchanges with those highland centers (which probably were carried
primarily over land routes, though some of them might have involved the use of sea
connections  – one thinks here especially of the merchants operating from Tilmun)
were conducted and strictly controlled by the intermediary local traders.

SARGONIC PERIO D (2 3 5 0 – 2 2 0 0 )
Introductory remarks
The Sargonic territorial expansion in the east, which commenced under Sargon, the
founder of the dynasty of Akkade, and continued through the reign of his grandson

183
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Naram-­Suen, opened up a completely new phase for Elam’s contacts with Babylonia.
For the first time, the highland polities of Iran, such as Awan, Marhashi (Parahshum),
Zahara, Sabum, Gar-­NE-NE, Anshan, and Sherihum, make their appearance on the
scene. Sargonic conquests in Iran also brought into contact with the Babylonian
world at least three of Iran’s eastern neighbors, Makkan, Kupin (probably the Paki-
stani portion of Baluchistan, see Steinkeller 2014a: 693, n. 8; Laursen and Steinkeller
2017) and Meluhha (the Indus Valley).
It is also in Sargonic times that we obtain first detailed information about Elam’s
rulers. Of particular importance here is the “Awan King List” (henceforth AKL)
(Scheil 1932: iv). Composed at Susa in the Old Babylonian period, this unique source
lists 12 Awan kings, the seventh and eighth of whom can be synchronized with Sar-
gon (see Sargon). The reverse of the same tablet lists what is known as the “Shimashki
King List” (henceforth ShKL), assigning to it 12 rulers. When viewed in its entirety,
this document presumes to be a continuous listing of Iranian monarchs from late
Early Dynastic times down to ca. 1850 BC. While the historicity of the Awan section
is difficult to judge, its testimony about the kings of Shimashki appears to be gener-
ally reliable (Steinkeller 2014b: 288–290).
As discussed earlier, the toponym Awan is a native designation of the southeastern
portion of Khuzestan, where the city of AdamDUN (modern Tépé Surkhegan in the
vicinity of Shūshtar) was situated (Steinkeller 2013a: 296–297). More broadly, Awan
also described the adjoining highlands (roughly modern Fars), up to the borders of
Marhashi (Parahshum) (for which see below). It is characteristic that the Sargonic
sources never use Awan in that sense,13 consistently referring to the geographical area
in question as Elam. This is demonstrated most visibly by one of Sargon’s inscriptions,
where two of the kings appearing in the AKL are identified as the rulers of Elam (see
Sargon). In view of these facts, Awan may be identified as the oldest surviving native
designation of Iran’s southwestern section. In this connection, note further the use of
the title of the “king of Awan” by Puzur-­Inshushinak (see Post-­Sargonic Period).
Another Iranian polity that needs to be foregrounded here is the state of Marhashi
(Parahshum), which, next to Elam (or Awan, if one uses the corresponding native
term), was the main adversary of the Sargonic kings in the highlands. Marhashi con-
tinued to be an exceedingly important polity as late as the early Old Babylonian
period. Based on the rich textual data bearing on this state, Marhashi may safely
be localized in the modern province of Kerman, with its core area lying in the Halil
river valley (Steinkeller 1982; 2013c; 2014a). To the west, Marhashi bordered on
Elam, with the border between the two running somewhere in modern Fars. In the
east, Marhashi’s territory probably embraced the Bampur valley in the Iranian por-
tion of Baluchistan. Its eastern neighbors (and political allies) were Kupin (probably
the Pakistani section of Baluchistan) and Meluhha (the Indus Valley). To the south,
its political influence extended all the way to the Persian Gulf and the Straits of
Hormuz. In that area, Marhashi’s neighbor and commercial partner was Makkan
(Oman Peninsula and the coastal area of modern Abu Dhabi). It is possible that, at
times, the coastal area of Iran actually was controlled by Makkan. This is suggested
by the later history of this region, which shows that the Iranian littoral has always
been intimately linked to Oman, with the two often being united under a single rule,
and with Iranian and Omani populations migrating in both directions (Laursen and
Steinkeller 2017).

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Marhashi’s importance extended to international trade, since it served as a key

transhipment point of goods exported from Afghanistan and Meluhha to Mesopo-
tamia and the places situated further west (such as gold, tin, lapis lazuli and carne-
lian). Marhashi was also an acknowledged producer of decorated stone vessels made
of chlorite (probably duḫšû in Akkadian, see Steinkeller 2013c: 263–266), which it
exported throughout the region (as far as northern Syria). Some of these exports date
to the ED II period (see Early Dynastic Period), attesting to the great antiquity of the
economic exchanges between this part of Iran and Babylonia.
In conclusion of these general remarks, it should further be noted that the Sargonic
period also provides us with the first extensive list of Elamite deities and the earliest
record of the Elamite language (written in Babylonian cuneiform). In both cases, the
source of information is the so-­called Treaty of Naram-­Suen (Scheil 1911: 1–11). This
exceedingly important source names, in its beginning section, ca. 37 deities (Scheil
1911: 3, Figure 1, i:2 – ii:12). Included among them are some of the most important
Elamite gods known from later periods, including Inshushinak, Narundi, Nahhiti
(Nahhunte), Pinikir, Simut, Humban, Hutran, Siashum and Napir.14 For the historical
significance of this document, see Naram-­Suen.

Sargon
Sargon’s conquest of southern Babylonia culminated in his capture of Gu’abba
(E-Ninmar), which, as described earlier, served as Babylonia’s main seaport and its
access point to the Gulf region and southeastern Iran. It was apparently from there
that, through the use of the Karun connection, Sargon invaded Khuzestan, captur-
ing Susa, Arawa (Uru’a) and Sabum15 (Frayne 1993: 22–26, Sargon 8 and 9).16 The
possession of that whole region put him in a direct conflict with Elam and Marhashi.
Either in the course of an offensive campaign or simply defending his position in
Khuzestan, Sargon faced the united armies of Elam and Marhashi in battle, defeating
them soundly. Sargon’s Elamite adversaries in this engagement were the king of Elam
named Hiship-­rashiNI, his son Luhhishshan and a “governor” (ensik) of Elam named
ShaNAM-simut. The first two of them, who appear to have led the enemy coalition,
may plausibly be identified with Hishep-­rater and Luhhishshan, the ninth and eighth
kings of the Awan dynasty, respectively (according to AKL). Among their Marhashian
allies were Dagu, a brother of the king of Marhashi, two “generals” (šagina) named
Ulul and Shidga’u, as well as a “judge” of Marhashi named Kundupum. On this occa-
sion, Sargon also captured (or recaptured) and looted various cities. Some of those
were located in Khuzestan (Susa, Arawa and Awan), while others appear to have been
highland polities (Sabum, Gar-­NE-NE, Gunilaha, Shali’amu, Bunban and HeNI).17
Importantly, the enemy coalition defeated by Sargon included a “governor” of
Sherihum, a polity or city that appears to have been situated on the coast of the
Persian Gulf. This localization of Sherihum is indicated by the fact that it was from
there, apparently, that during the reign of Manishtushu (see Manishtushu), the Akka-
dians sent an amphibious expedition against Makkan. It is possible, therefore, that,
following his victory over the armies of Elam and Marhashi, Sargon campaigned in
the highlands, reaching eventually Sherihum and the coast of the Persian Gulf. How-
ever, even if that was the case, it is unlikely that he had penetrated the territories of
Marhashi on that occasion.

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Sargon’s inscriptions further report that he “crossed (the Lower Sea) and defeated
Makkan (which is) in the middle of the Lower Sea” (Wilcke 1997: 25, J x:15–23, 28).
This expedition may have followed the route later used by Manishtushu (see section
Manishtushu). Alternatively, Sargon’s military fleet would have traveled to Makkan
directly from Babylonia, by using the port of Gu’abba as an embarkation point. Be
that as it may, it is clear that, already under Sargon, there existed a maritime connec-
tion between Babylonia and Makkan, since in two of his inscriptions Sargon claims
to have brought the ships of Meluhha, Makkan and Tilmun to Akkade (Frayne 1993:
27–31, Sargon 11 and 12).

Rimush
Sargon’s conquest of Khuzestan and his successful military operations on the Iranian
plateau precipitated, probably on the news of his death, an invasion of Khuzestan by
the armies of Elam and Marhashi (Frayne 1993: 51–58, Rimush 6, 7, and 8). This new
anti-­Akkadian collation, which was much larger than that which Sargon had faced ear-
lier, apparently was led by Marhashi, since the enemy army included troops provided
by Marhashi’s eastern neighbors Kupin and Meluhha. Moreover, the pertinent sources
assign to Marhashi a dominant role in this conflict. Another member of this collation
was the land of Zahara, whose location is unknown.18 Its leaders included a king of
Marhashi named Abalgamash, his “general” Shidgau (who had been one of Sargon’s
opponents in the latter’s war on Elam and Marhashi), a king of Elam named Emah-­
shiNI (who cannot be identified with any of the Awan kings appearing in the AKL) and a
“general” of Zahara named Shargapi. As far as the events may be reconstructed, after the
troops of Zahara, Elam, Kupin and Meluhha had assembled in Marhashi, Abalgamash
led them and his army to Khuzestan, successfully occupying it. In response, Sargon’s son
and successor Rimush launched a counteroffensive, defeating the enemy army in a battle
that was fought “between (the city of) Awan and Susa, on the ‘middle river’ ” (where the
Karun apparently is meant, see Steinkeller 2013a: 297). Although these figures may be
exaggerated, Rimush claims to have killed 16,212 enemy soldiers, taking 4,216 prison-
ers on this occasion. In addition, he reportedly brought to Babylonia a booty consisting
of 30 minas of gold, 3,600 minas of copper, 300 slaves, as well as various vessels made
of diorite and duhšu stone (probably chlorite). Importantly, Rimush’s inscriptions state
that, through this˘ victory, Rimush “removed the roots of Marhashi from Elam”. This
idiomatic statement, which has parallels in the Neo-­Assyrian royal inscriptions, signifies
that Rimush put an end to the political influence that Marhashi had earlier enjoyed in
Elam (Steinkeller 1982: 257). The same sources further say that Rimush destroyed a
number of Elamite cities. This suggests that, following the battle in question, he exten-
sively campaigned in the highlands. As in the case of Sargon’s military feats in that
region, there is no clear indication that Rimush invaded Marhashi’s territories.

Manishtushu
Rimush’s victory over Elam and Marhashi put Akkade in firm control of Khuzestan
and significant portions of the Iranian highlands. This situation continued during the
reign of Manishtushu, Rimush’s brother and follower. An eloquent proof of this is the
figure of Eshpum, who served as Manishtushu’s “governor” of Elam (Frayne 1993:

186
 — The birth of Elam in history —

304–305, Eshpum 1 and 2001), and who dedicated, for the intention of his master’s
life, a votive statue of himself to the goddess Narundi in Susa (Frayne 1993: 81–82,
Manishtushu 2001) (see Figure 10.2).19
It was evidently these stable conditions that enabled Manishtushu to expand
Akkade’s political and commercial influence further east. The longest surviving
inscription of Manishtushu describes how he conquered the lands of Anshan (mod-
ern Tall-­e Malyan) and Sherihum (probably situated on or in the vicinity of the Per-
sian Gulf), subsequently sending his ships (apparently from Sherihum) across the
“Lower Sea” to Makkan (Frayne 1993: 74–77, Manishtushu 1). This amphibious
expedition, which seems to have replicated an earlier such venture by Sargon (see Sar-
gon), resulted in the capture of 32 Makkan “cities” and their rulers. On this occasion,
Manishtishu also mined diorite in Makkan’s quarries, transporting it subsequently as
booty to Babylonia.

Naram-­Suen
The unusually long reign of Naram-­Suen (54 and a half years), Manishtushu’s son and
successor, represented a high point in Akkade’s history. The peaceful and stable condi-
tions that characterized the reign of his predecessor continued to prevail during the first
two or three decades of Naram-­Suen’s tenure, until the entire empire – including most
of Babylonia – rose in rebellion against Akkade and its king. It appears virtually certain
that one of the areas affected by this rebellion (usually referred to as the “Great Revolt”)
was Khuzestan and Elam, and that these regions regained independence temporarily.
Later literary sources name among the participants of the “Great Revolt” a king of
Marhashi named Humpshumkipi and a king of Makkan named Manum (obviously the

Figure 10.2  Statue of Eshpum (after Bahrani 1992: 86, Figure 53).

187
 — Piotr Steinkeller —

same person as Mani’um, the ruler of Makkan whom Naram-­Suen defeated sometime
after the “Great Revolt”, see below), as well as the rulers of Elam and Meluhha (West-
enholz 1997: 238–257, Texts 16B and 17). This information is not corroborated by the
contemporary records, and thus may be fictitious. Nevertheless, it is possible that the
narratives in question preserve a correct tradition that all of Akkade’s eastern territorial
acquisitions had temporarily been lost to it during the “Great Revolt”.
Nearly miraculously, Naram-­ Suen emerged victorious from this ordeal, re-­
establishing his rule over Babylonia. Although the specifics remain unknown, it
appears that he was also able to recover most (if not all) of Akkade’s foreign posses-
sions. This is shown by the fact that, following the “Great Revolt”, he expanded the
scope of Akkadian expansion even further by launching expeditions to the lands pre-
viously untouched by it (especially in the northeast). As for Khuzestan and Elam, we
can be certain that these territories had been fully restored to Akkade. Our evidence
here is the Akkadian economic sources found at Susa. Dating to the reigns of Naram-­
Suen and Shar-­kali-­sharri, these records demonstrate that the Akkadians were in firm
control of Susa and other Khuzestani urban centers during that period. In addition,
in an inscription written after the “Great Revolt”, Naram-­Suen claims to have ruled
over the entire land of Elam “as far as Marhashi” (Frayne 1993: 129–131, Naram-­
Suen 25). Since one of his sources refers to Naram-­Suen as a conqueror of Elam
(Frayne 1993: 166–167, 2008), he may have campaigned there, especially during the
“Great Revolt”. But the specific information about these operations is lacking. The
only surviving record of Naram-­Suen’s exploits in the east concerns his campaign
against Makkan (Frayne 1993: 116–118, Naram-­Suen 13). This expedition, which
occurred subsequent to the “Great Revolt”, resulted in the capture of Makkan’s ruler,
named Mani’um. Like Manishtushu before him, on this occasion Naram-­Suen mined
diorite in Makkan, fashioning out of it a statue of himself.
During the reign of Naram-­Suen, Akkade’s influence in Iran reached its apex. By its
end, the Akkadians remained in firm control of the entire Khuzestan and of the bor-
dering highlands as far as the borders of Marhashi. They also exercised a modicum
of control over Makkan. The status of the central Zagros at that time is less clear. It
is possible that Naram-­Suen held some parts of it,20 but we lack confirmation of that.
One of the foreign areas conquered by the Sargonic kings that was particularly
closely integrated into the empire was Khuzestan. Akkade’s control over Khuzestan
may have even amounted to its outright annexation to Babylonia, with the cities of
Susa, Arawa and Uru’az having been put under the charge of Akkadian appointees.
Since there existed the position of a “general of the land of Elam”, which appears
to have been held by the “governor” of Susa (as shown by the case of Epir-­mupi, for
whom see section Post-­Sargonic Period), it is likely that the Akkadians also held the
mountainous section of the state of Awan, possibly as far as the borders of Marhashi.
The Sargonic economic texts from Susa, which, based on their script and shapes,
date to the reigns of Naram-­Suen and Shar-­kali-­sharri, paint a picture of a highly
Babylonized society. This affects both Susa’s institutions and the ethnic makeup of
its population, since most of the individuals mentioned in these sources bear either
Akkadian or Sumerian personal names, with only a fraction of them being foreign
(Elamite or otherwise). Susa’s economic life was dominated by a very large palatial
organization, which was organized along native Babylonian lines, and employed well
in excess of 1,000 individuals (MDP 14 6, 9, 11, 12, 18, 24, 25, 26, 30, 32, 42, 51, 62,

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and 71). Susa also housed a large military garrison. The activities of the latter institu-
tion are documented in a number of sources, which record assignments of grain and
field allotments to soldiers and expenditures of weapons and armor on their behalf
(MDP 14 10, 47, 72, 85, and 86). The Babylonian influence at Susa extended to cul-
ture and religion, as reflected in the veneration of Akkadian and Sumerian deities, and
the discovery there of Sumerian lexical texts and Akkadian incantations.
During the period in question, Susa maintained close economic contacts with
southern Babylonia and other parts of the empire. For example, one reads of large
volumes of barley coming from Apishal in the Umma province and from Arawa
(MDP 14 21); of field operations in Umma, Zulum (in northern Babylonia?), and
Awal (MDP 14 16 and 33), the last being situated in the Diyala region; and of the
Amorites and the soldiers or workers stemming from Marhashi (MDP 14 18).
A particularly interesting record discovered at Susa is the above-­mentioned text,
written in Elamite, which names Naram-­Suen (at least nine times) and Akkade (at least
three times), and contains a long list of Elamite deities (Scheil 1911: 1–11). Although
this document has been explained as a treaty between Naram-­Suen and an unnamed
ruler of Awan (Hinz 1967), this interpretation is most unlikely. An agreement of this
type would be expected to show a symmetrical pattern, giving equal recognition to
both parties. But such an organization is lacking in the text, since it nowhere men-
tions an Elamite ruler, and it does not refer to any important Babylonian deities (such
as Enlil, Ishtar, Ea, Suen, Shamash, Ninhursag and Adad), except for Ilaba, Ninurta,
Ninkarak and Ishhara.21 Such an interpretation is improbable also for historical rea-
sons. If, as argued above, during the reign of Naram-­Suen, Khuzestan and Elam were
directly ruled by the empire, there did not exist at that time any independent Awan
ruler with whom Naram-­Suen could have concluded a treaty, nor was there a need
for such a formal arrangement. Due to the enormous linguistic difficulties presented
by this text,22 its exact function remains unknown. One of the possibilities is that we
find here a record of privileges bestowed by Naram-­Suen upon the chief gods of Susa
and of their recognition of Naram-­Suen as their servant and protector.
However, it is virtually certain that international treaties were a common practice
in Sargonic times, but those must have involved independent states. Thus, one may
conjecture that such an agreement had been concluded between Akkade and Mar-
hashi. At the very least, we have the record of a dynastic marriage between these two
states, which, apparently, involved a Marhashian princess and a son of Naram-­Suen
(Steinkeller 2014a: 692).
Finally, one may note a remarkable piece of art dating to Naram-­Suen’s reign
(Hansen 2002; Steinkeller 2014a: 695–696), which likely depicts the rulers of Elam
and Marhashi and their respective gods (see Figure 10.3).

Shar-­kali-­sharri
During the reign of Shar-­kali-­sharri, Naram-­Suen’s son and successor, the fortunes
of the empire began to decline, and the slow process of disintegration had set in. It
appears virtually certain that already in the second half of Shar-­kali-­sharri’s long
reign (26 years) Akkade lost effective control of all of its foreign territorial posses-
sions. The only mention of Elam during Shar-­kali-­sharri’s reign comes from one of
his year formulae, which refers to a battle won against Elam and Zahara (Gelb and

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 — Piotr Steinkeller —

Figure 10.3  The roundlet of Naram-­Suen (after Hansen 2002: 93, Figure 3).

Kienast 1990: 54, D-25 and D-26). Since this battle took place on Babylonian soil (at
Akšak in the Diyala Region), this must have been a defensive operation. This event is
a clear indication that, already then (the exact placement of the date-­formula within
Shar-­kal-­sharri’s reign unfortunately cannot be determined), both Khuzestan and the
Iranian highlands had been free of Akkadian political domination.

POST-­S ARGONIC P E RIO D

The collapse of the Sargonic empire was followed by a period of unrest and political
fragmentation. The century or less that had elapsed between the end of Shar-­kali-­
sharri’s reign and the advent of Ur-­Namma of Ur (Steinkeller 2015; Sallaberger and

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 — The birth of Elam in history —

Schrakamp 2015: 127–130) saw the rise in Khuzestan and Elam of a number of
independent rulers. One of them (possibly the earliest one) was Epir-­mupi, who styled
himself as a “governor” of Susa and a “general” of the land of Elam (Scheil 1913: 5,
no. 1:rev.2’ – 4’; Frayne 1993: 306, Epir-­mupi 1). Given his Akkadian name, chances
are that Epir-­mupi was an Akkadian appointee at Susa, whose tenure likely belonged
to the reign of Shar-­kali-­sharri. But he must have become completely independent at
one point, since in the seals of his servants he is given the title of dannum, “power-
ful” (Frayne 1993: 306–307; 2001–2002). This important title, which was coined by
Naram-­Suen subsequent to his deification, is a proof of both Epir-­mupi’s indepen-
dence from Akkade and his ambitious political aspirations.
The career of Epir-­mupi closely mirrors that of Puzur-­Mama, who served as a
“governor” of Lagash, in all probability during the reign of Shar-­kali-­sharri. After the
Akkadian empire had collapsed, Puzur-­Mama became fully independent, assuming
the title of the “king of Lagash” (Volk 1992). The sole surviving inscription of this
post-­Sargonic ruler mentions, in a broken context, Susa and Gar-­NE-NE (Frayne
1993: 271–272, Puzur-­Mama 1). This suggests that a military conflict of some kind
occurred between Lagash and those cities at that particular juncture, but its nature
is unknown. Since Puzur-­Mama appears to have been a contemporary of the afore-
mentioned Epir-­mupi, the Elamite party involved in that conflict conceivably was
Epir-­mupi, but this is merely a guess.
On purely chronological grounds, two other rulers that may have belonged to this
phase of Elamite history are Hi’elu and Hita’a, whom the “Awan King List” names
as the tenth and 11th kings of that dynasty, identifying them as the predecessors of
Puzur-­Inshushinak (for whom see below). Possibly, Hi’elu and Hita’a ruled, subse-
quent to the Akkadian collapse, over the mountainous sections of Awan. However,
since we lack any other records or mentions of these two rulers, their historicity
remains uncertain.
This period of political fragmentation, which resulted from the void left by the
Sargonic collapse, undoubtedly saw the growth in Khuzestan and Elam of numer-
ous other small polities and kinglets, but their names have not survived to our time.
Toward the very end of this phase, a remarkable political figure took advantage of
this situation, uniting Khuzestan and Elam, and subsequently conquering significant
portions of Babylonia. His name was Puzur-­Inshushinak, and he was a contemporary
of Gudea of Lagash, and of Ur-­Namma of Ur (Steinkeller 2013a: 293–303). Puzur-­
Inshushinak is listed as the 12 king of Awan in AKL. Significantly, Puzur-­Inshushinak
was a native Iranian, a proof of which is the Elamite name of his father. As far as
it can be determined, Puzur-­Inshushinak began his career as a ruler of Susa. This is
confirmed by the extensive body of monuments and inscriptions that he has left there.
During that early phase of his political career, Puzur-­Inshushinak used the titles of
the “governor” of Susa and the “general” of the land of Elam, the designations earlier
born by Epir-­mupi. Sometime later during his reign, Puzur-­Inshushinak launched a
major military campaign in the Zagros, from as far as Huhnuri in the southeast (the
area of Ramhormoz) to as far as of Kimash and Hurti in the northwest (both situated
on the Hamadan plain). This campaign is described in considerable detail in one of
his inscriptions (Scheil 1913: 7–16), which names some 80 captured locales (most of
which are documented only here). As this inscription makes clear, the main targets
of the campaign were the lands of Kimash and Hurti, which controlled the critical

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trade route that led from the Diyala region to central Iran (the later “Great Khurasan
Road”) (Steinkeller 2013a: 304–312). From there Puzur-­Inshushinak moved into the
Diyala region and northern Babylonia, bringing them under his rule. Very revealingly,
the same source also contains the first mention of Shimashki, alleging that, in recogni-
tion of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s victories, an unnamed king of Shimashki paid obeisance
to him. That ruler quite likely was Kirname, the first ruler of Shimashki mentioned in
the ShKL (Steinkeller 2014b: 288–289).
Assuming that Puzur-­Inshushinak’s conquests extended to southeastern Zagros
(the mountainous areas of Awan and the area of Anshan), he had succeeded in unit-
ing the entirety of western Iran as far as the borders of Marhashi. If one adds to this
his (however temporary) possession of the Diyala Region and northern Babylonia,
it will not be an exaggeration to conclude that Puzur-­Inshushinak was not only the
first native ruler to unite most of Iran but also creator of the first Iranian empire. It
was as a result of these achievements, no doubt, that Puzur-­Inshushinak claimed that
the god Inshushinak gave him “four quarters to rule”, in which he obviously imitated
the earlier achievements of Naram-­Suen. At that point he also abandoned his earlier
titles, replacing them with those of “the mighty one” (dannum) and the “king of
Awan” (Steinkeller 2013a: 296). His use of the latter title is particularly striking, since
it shows that Puzur-­Inshushinak viewed himself as a native Iranian ruler.
However, Puzur-­Inshushinak’s achievement, which to a large extent was made pos-
sible by the political fragmentation of Babylonia during Post-­Sargonic times and the
inability of its rulers to focus their attention toward the east, was short-­lived. Also
in Babylonia, various contemporaneous rulers made inroads toward reunification,
most notably among them, Utu-­hegal of Uruk, Gudea of Lagash and Ur-­Namma of
Ur. It was the last of them who had been most successful, uniting southern Babylo-
nia and, eventually, confronting Puzur-­Inshushinak and expelling him from northern
Babylonia and the Diyala Region. It is likely as a result of this victory over Puzur-­
Inshushinak that Ur-­Namma was able to reconquer Susa (Marchesi 2013; Steinkeller
2013a: 298) and, along with it, probably the entire Khuzestan as well.
Although the chronological picture still remains somewhat unclear, it appears that
another participant of the war on Puzur-­Inshushinak was Gudea of Lagash, who may
have even acted as Ur-­Namma’s ally. As we learn from his records, Gudea campaigned
against Elam and Anshan, succeeding in capturing the city of AdamDUN (Steinkeller
2013a: 298–302). That these operations were directed against Puzur-­Inshushinak is
demonstrated by the mention of the latter’s kinsmen in two tablets dating to Gudea’s
reign. In all probability, these individuals had been brought to Lagash as prisoners
of war.
Yet another individual who may have participated in the war on Puzur-­Inshushinak,
likely on the side of Ur-­Namma and Gudea, is Kirname of Shimashki (Steinkeller
2014b: 289). Assuming that this is correct, the final outcome of this conflict was the
partition of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s “empire” by the three victors, with Ur-­Namma tak-
ing over northern Babylonia, the Diyala region, and Khuzestan, with Gudea acquir-
ing the possession of AdamDUN and its general area and with Kirname inheriting the
eastern portion of the Iranian highlands (including Anshan).
The final point that needs to be discussed in this connection is the so-­called
Linear Elamite writing, which survives mainly on the artifacts commissioned by
Puzur-­Inshushinak (Hinz 1969; see also Desset, Chapter  20 in this volume). Like

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the “Proto-­Elamite” writing, this script too remains undeciphered. Its origins are
unknown. Although it has been speculated that this script derives from the Proto-­
Elamite writing, such a possibility is highly unlikely. One should rather interpret it as
an independent, late 3rd millennium invention, whose creation may have represented,
at least in part, a patriotic reaction against Babylonia’s political and cultural dom-
inance over Elam during the Sargonic period. As such, the “Linear Elamite” would
have been a fitting element of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s propaganda offensive. However,
there is no proof that Puzur-­Inshushinak had been responsible for the invention of
this script, nor, even more so, that this event occurred at Susa. Here one notes the fact
that objects inscribed with the “Linear Elamite” have been found also in Fars and
Kerman, at the sites of Shahdad and Konar Sandal (Hinz 1969; 1971; Madjidzadeh
and Pittman 2008: 81 and Figure 14). Of those, the specimen found in Fars (a silver
vase with the representations of two women wearing kaunakes-­like dresses) is typical
of the art documented in southeastern Iran during the first half of the 2nd millen-
nium BC. This geographical and temporal distribution of the “Linear Elamite” rather
suggests that this script originated in the Iranian highlands, likely in the border area
between Elam and Marhashi.

UR III PERIOD (2 1 1 0 – 2 0 0 0 )
Whatever the specifics of the Puzur-­Inshushinak episode may have been, it is posi-
tively known that already under Ur-­Namma, the founder of the Ur III dynasty, Bab-
ylonia regained control of Susa and probably of the entire Khuzestan as well (see
Post-­Sargonic Period). However, it was only during the reign of Shulgi, Ur-­Namma’s
son and successor, that the Ur III state embarked on a full-­scale territorial expansion.
Directed nearly entirely toward the east and north, Shulgi’s foreign conquests com-
menced around his 20th regnal year, reaching their culmination at the very end of his
exceptionally long reign of 48 years. By Shulgi’s death, Babylonia was in full control
of the Trans-­Tigridian zone as far as Urbilum (modern Erbil) and Shashrum (Tell
Shemshara) in the north, and of the entire western Zagros as far as Huhnuri (the area
of Ramhormoz) in the southeast. As a result of these conquests and the program of
reforms that Shulgi instituted within Babylonia, a virtual empire had come into being.
Although considerably smaller than the Sargonic precedent in terms of its geograph-
ical extent, the Ur III empire showed a much higher level of political and economic
integration (Steinkeller forthcoming).
The foundations of the Ur III imperial design were political and economic alliances
with four international powers of particular strategic importance to Ur. The powers
in question were Marhashi and Anshan in the east, Mari (Tell Hariri) in the west
and Shimanum (the upper reaches of the Tigris) in the northwest. By forming these
alliances, Shulgi created a coherent international order in which the entire territory
between eastern Iran and northern Syria was divided into clearly defined spheres of
interest. Since at least three of them date to before the Ur III territorial expansion
really took off, these alliances had clearly been designed as a strategic framework for
the launching of the expansion itself.
The relationships with Marhashi and Anshan had been cemented by dynastic mar-
riages, which took place in years Shulgi 18 and Shulgi 30, respectively. The alliance
with Marhashi proved to be exceedingly firm and enduring, since it lasted without

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any apparent interruptions into the reign of Ibbi-­Suen, the last ruler of the dynasty.
The partnership with Anshan had a more complicated history (Steinkeller 2007). The
familial connection with Ur had not been sufficient to insure Anshan’s loyalty, and
so, after a military intervention in the years Shulgi 34–35, the rule over Anshan was
transferred by Shulgi to the family of Yabrat (Ebarat) of Shimashki, who, as we see
later, was one of the staunchest allies of Ur and, like the rulers of Marhashi, one of
the pillars of the Ur III foreign policy. From then on, Anshan remained firmly on the
Babylonian side, being ruled by a junior kinsman of Yabrat, who, very likely, was
Yabrat’s surrogate.
Another crucial element of Shulgi’s imperial design was the creation of a system
of defensive settlements within the conquered territories. This buffer, called ma-­da,
“periphery”, in Sumerian, formed a belt running parallel to the Tigris and the Zagros
ranges, and extending from Urbilum in the north to Pashime in the southeast. This
zone, in many ways comparable to the Roman limes, was settled (at least in part)
with Babylonian colonists. Those were provided with land allotments by the state,
paid a special tax in exchange, and stood ready to provide military and other services.
In the southeast, the Iranian territories that were annexed to Babylonia as part
of the ma-­da belt included the Khuzestan and Deh Luran plains, plus the adjoin-
ing eastern territories as far as Huhnuri. The main Babylonian outposts there were
Susa, Arawa, Pashime, AdamDUN, and Sabum. Like the other settlements of the
ma-­da zone, these locales remained under the direct rule of Ur. A place that showed
a particularly close level of integration with Babylonia was Susa, where significant
agricultural areas were directly exploited by the governor of Girsu/Lagash and his
administration (Maekawa 2016).
The primary access to this section of the ma-­da belt was provided by the seaport
of Gu’abba, which, apart from port facilities, housed a shipyard, a huge textile man-
ufacturing operation and one of the largest and most important caravanserais of the
empire (see also under Early Dynastic Period). Gu’abba was the starting point of a
sea route that ran eastward along the coast to the mouth of the Karun river. From
there it followed over the Karun deep into Khuzestan and the neighboring areas,
where the cities of Susa, Arawa, Pashime, AdamDUN and Sabum were situated, and
the overland-­routes leading into southeastern Iran could be accessed. This route
remained in constant use, with ships being sent regularly from Babylonia to provi-
sion the military settlers in Khuzestan and to bring back timber and other materials
that the agents of the empire acquired in that region and in the neighboring Zagros
zone. The same ships also transported back and forth Babylonian troops, messengers,
merchants and various other state employees traveling on official business, as well as
foreign soldiers, large numbers of whom were supplied by the various Iranian polities
situated in southeastern and central Iran, among them most importantly the lands of
Shimashki, Duhduhni, Anshan, and Marhashi.
Among the northeastern Iranian locales included in the ma-­da belt were Shimur-
rum, Lullubum, Kimash, Hurti, Harshi, and Shashrum (Steinkeller 2013a: 304–312
and Figs. 1–2). This section of the Central Zagros was of particular strategic impor-
tance, since it oversaw the commercial traffic over the Great Khurasan Road, which
led into the central portions of the Iranian plateau and the lands beyond. Access
to that region from Babylonia was provided by the Urusagrig  – Der connection,
with Urusagrig (situated on the Tigris to the northeast of Nippur) serving as the

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embarkation point for the messengers, military, and other types of royal personnel
travelling to that section of the ma-­da belt, as well as to the lands of Shimashki and
other locales in central Iran (Steinkeller 2013a: 306–307 and Figure 2).
As a means of providing additional security for the annexed territories, the empire
brought into its orbit a plethora of small states that bordered on the ma-­da territory.
Because of their large number and their inherent instability, these states presented a
constant threat to the newly established order. It appears that most of these states
were turned into the vassals of Ur. Their relations with Ur were regulated by treaties,
which were sanctified by an oath of allegiance. The most important among these
vassals were given Sumerian princesses in marriage. Another check on the vassal
states was provided by the four strategic allies of Ur (Marhashi, Anshan, Mari, and
Shimanum).
Among the vassals of Ur particularly prominent and numerous were those associ-
ated with the lands of Shimashki, which occupied the central portion of the Iranian
plateau to the east of the ma-­da belt and extended all the way from the shores of the
“Upper Sea” to the border of Anshan (Steinkeller 2014b: 291–295). The Ur III texts
apply the name of Shimashki indiscriminately to some 16 polities and their respective
populations. In the same sources, the individuals stemming from the Shimashkian
lands are often designated as “Elamites” (Elam). However, although some of them
may indeed have been Elamites, it is doubtful that this identification extended to
all the Shimashkians, and that the people so designated formed a homogenous eth-
nic group. The most important of all the Shimashikian lands was the kingdom held
by the family of Yabrat (Ebarat), which appears to have constituted the core – and
probably also the original – area of Shimashki. Although its precise location remains
unknown, Yabrat’s kingdom most likely was situated somewhere between Huhnuri
(the area of Ramhormoz), and Anshan (Tall-­e Malyan). However, a location further
to the northeast, somewhere in the general area of Esfahan, is possible as well.
As discussed earlier (see Post-­Sargonic Period), the earliest mention of Shimashki’s
name appears in one of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s inscriptions, which refers to an unnamed
king of Shimashki. On chronological grounds and in view of other considerations,
that ruler likely was Kirname, the first king of Shimashki listed in ShKL (Steinkeller
2014b: 288–289). But regardless of whether or not this is correct, and whether Kir-
name did in fact participate in the war on Puzur-­Inshushinak (as hypothesized in
Steinkeller 2013a: 302–303), it appears quite certain that the growth of the Shimash-
kian state had been a direct consequence of the disintegration of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s
“empire”.
The next member of Kirname’s dynasty documented in the Ur III sources is
Yabrat (Ebarat), who is listed as the third king of Shimashki in ShKL (Steinkeller
2007; 2014b: 290). A loyal ally of Ur during the reigns of Shulgi and those of his
immediate successors, Amar-­Suen, and Shu-­Suen,23 Yabrat was able to carve out a
large territorial state for himself. Most importantly, he came to control, apparently
with the tacit approval of Shulgi, also the state of Anshan, which he ruled through
surrogates. The particular value of Yabrat for the Ur III empire lied in the fact that
he counterbalanced and provided an important check on other Shimashkian poli-
ties. As such, he was one of the most important strategic allies of the empire. There
is a strong possibility that either Yabrat or one of his kinsmen married a daughter
of Shulgi.

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Another prominent Iranian vassal of Ur was Hulibar of Duhduhni (Notizia 2010).

Although Duhduhni clearly was situated on the Iranian Plateau (as evidenced in the
fact that the men stemming from there are regularly designated as Elam), its loca-
tion is unknown.24 During the reigns of Shulgi, Amar-­Suen and Shu-­Suen, Hulibar
provided Babylonia with large numbers of soldiers, and even visited Babylonia him-
self. He also married a Sumerian princess. A reflection of the close relationship that
Hulibar shared with the House of Ur is the fact that a statue of Shu-­Suen was erected
in Duhduhni sometime during that ruler’s reign (RTC 390). Since Hulibar is never
identified as a Shimashkian in the surviving documentation, it appears that his state
did not count among the Shimashkian lands.
The reign of Amar-­Suen, Shulgi’s successor, represented the high point of the
empire’s fortunes. Amar-­Suen’s efforts concentrated mainly on political and eco-
nomic consolidation, both within the core area of the empire and within its periph-
ery. Except for some policing actions (carried out against Urbilum, Shashrum, and
Huhnuri), there were no further attempts at territorial expansion. During the reign
of his successor, Shu-­Suen, the process of decline had set in, with the Babylonian rule
over the periphery having been challenged on several fronts. In Iran, the most serious
challenge came from a group of Shimashkian principalities, which formed an anti-­Ur
coalition led by the land of Zabshali. In response, in his sixth regnal year Shu-­Suen
launched a massive military campaign against Zabshali and its allies. In this under-
taking, he seems to have enjoyed the support of Yabrat, who either fought on the side
of Ur or at least remained neutral in the conflict. Shu-­Suen’s campaign was a success,
with several of the Shimashkian lands having subsequently been incorporated into
the ma-­da belt. But Shu-­Suen’s victory was short-­lived. Only a few years later, in the
very beginning of the reign of Ibbi-­Suen, the last king of the dynasty, Babylonia lost
the control of most of its foreign possessions. With this development the empire effec-
tively ceased to exist. Sensing that the end of Ur was near, Yabrat turned against Ibbi-­
Suen and occupied Susa and the rest of Khuzestan (Steinkeller 2007: 228). Although
Ibbi-­Suen made some attempts to regain the momentum, allying himself with Zab­
shali, the arch-­enemy of Shu-­Suen, and even sending an expedition to AdamDUN,
these efforts were in vain. The Ur III state (or what was left of it) lingered for two more
decades, during which Yabrat’s son Kindattu (the sixth king of Shimashki according
to ShKL) brought under his rule Anshan and probably most of western and central
Iran. Kindattu also tried to ally himself with Ishbi-­Erra, an erstwhile governor of Isin
who had established himself in the meanwhile as an independent lord of the northern
half of southern Babylonia (Steinkeller 2008; forthcoming). The final blow to Ibbi-­
Suen was delivered by Kindattu, who captured Ur and carried Ibbi-­Suen as prisoner
to Anshan. Through this accomplishment, Kindattu replicated – and probably even
surpassed – the earlier feats of Puzur-­Inshushinak, thereby becoming the second Ira-
nian in history to submit Babylonia to his rule. This achievement was brief, however,
since after some 20 years Ishbi-­Erra succeeded in chasing the Shimashkians out of Ur
and southern Babylonia. But the power of the Shimashkian rulers had scarcely been
affected by their loss of Babylonia, since, during the following two centuries, they
gained control over all of Iran, probably even bringing under their rule the territories
of Marhashi, and extending their influence as far as Afghanistan and Bactria. Because
of this, Shimashki may rightly be considered the first true Iranian empire. But that
phase of Elam’s history falls beyond the scope of the present chapter.

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AB B REVIATIO NS
BIN 8 Texts in Hackmann, G.G. 1958. Sumerian and Akkadian Administra-
tive Texts from Predynastic Times to the End of the Akkad Dynasty,
Babylonian Inscriptions in the Collection of J.B. Nies 8. New Haven:
Yale University Press.
CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of
Chicago. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago,
1956–2010.
CUSAS 26 Texts in Westenholz, A. 2014. A Third-­ Millennium Miscellany of
Cuneiform Texts, Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sum-
erology 26. Bethesda, MD: CDL Press.
DP Texts in Allotte de la Fuÿe, F.M. 1908–1920. Documents présargo-
niques. Paris: Ernest Leroux, éditeur.
HSS 3 Texts in Hussey, M.I. 1912. Sumerian Tablets in the Harvard Semitic
Museum. Part I, Harvard Semitic Studies 3. Cambridge: Harvard
University.
MDP 14 Texts in Legrain, L. 1913. Tablettes de comptabilité, etc. de l’époque
de la dynastie d’Agadê. In: Scheil 1913: 62–126.
MSVO 1 Texts in Englund, R.K. and Grégoire, J.-P. 1991. The Proto-­cuneiform
Texts from Jemdet Nasr, Materialien zu den frühen Schrift zeugnissen
des Vorderen Orients 1. Berlin: Mann.
MVN 2 Texts in Sauren, H. 1974. Wirtschaftsurkunden des Musée d’Art
et d’Histoire in Genf, Materiali per il Vocabolario Neosumerico 2.
Roma: Multigrafica.
Nikolski 1 Texts in Nikolski, M.V. 1908. Dokumenty khoziaistvennoj otčetno-
sti. . ., vol. 1. St. Petersburg.
OAIC Texts in Gelb, I.J. 1955. Old Akkadian Inscriptions in Chicago Natu-
ral History Museum. Texts of Legal and Business Interest, Fieldiana:
Anthropology 44/2. Chicago: Chicago Natural History Museum.
OrSP 47–49 Texts in Schneider, N. 1930. Die Geschäftsurkunden aus Drehem und
Djoḫa in den Staatlichen Museen (VAT) zu Berlin, Orientalia [Series
Prior] 47–49. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum.
RTC Texts in Thureau-­Dangin, F. 1903. Recueil de tablettes chaldéennes.
Paris: Ernest Leroux, éditeur.

NOTE S
1 The reading [elam] of the sign in question (NIM) is assured by the surviving 3rd millennium
syllabic spellings, such as a-­la-­ma, which interchanges with NIM in an Ur III tablet (MVN
2 152:2 and seal, line 2); and e-­lam for NIM in a syllabic version of one of Gudea’s inscrip-
tions (Wilcke 2011: 40, iii:8’a). Note further the type of wood called elammakku, which is
an Akkadian loanword of the Sumerian elam-­ak, “one of Elam” (1 gišbanšur e-­lam-­ma-­gum2
ur2-bi ha-­lu-­ub2 (OrSP 47–49 37:1; Ur III; for other attestations, see CAD E: 75–76, s.v.);
the Sargonic female personal name E-la-­me-­tum [Elamītum], “She of Elam” (OAIC 9:10);
the spelling nam-­ga-­eš8 Elam-­me-­ne-­kam [Elam-­ene-­ak-­am3], “the long distance trade of the
Elamites” (RTC 20 i:4; Urukagina’s reign); and qá-­aš-­tum e-­la-­ma-­tum, “Elamite bow”
(Dossin 1935: 182–183, line 17; Old Babylonian). Cf. Krebernik 2006: 64–67.

197
 — Piotr Steinkeller —

2 For example, three ED IIIb tablets from Lagash (Nikolski 1 11; HSS 3 15 (Pl. 23) x:2; DP
230 vii’:6–7, xiii’:5’ – 7’) mention several males and females labeled Elam(-me); most of
them bear foreign, likely “Elamite” names. A contemporaneous tablet from Umma (BIN 8
68:45, 56) mentions two individuals marked as Elamki. Among the Sargonic attestations,
note especially CUSAS 26 164, which lists several Elamites (Elam) and one man from
Marhashi receiving “Elamite weapons” (tukul Elam).
3 Krebernik 2006: 62. Hatamti may possibly appear already in the so-­called “Naram-­Suen”
treaty (Scheil 1911: 9, Figure  2, vii:3: ha-d[am?-ti?]), but this reconstruction is by no
means certain. For the source in question, see Naram-­Suen.
4 Steinkeller 1993: 111. Further indication that Inana was a chief deity of Susa at one
early point in time is provided by the logogram used to write the name of Susa (ancient
Shushin) – MUŠ3.EREN – which is composed of the name of Inana (MUŠ3) and the pho-
netic complement šušx(EREN) (Krebernik 2006: 69). Similar markers of the “Uruk Expan-
sion” in the east may be the names of the Tilmunite deities Inzak and Ninsikila (Meskilak),
which likewise are Sumerian words (Laursen and Steinkeller 2017).
5 Potts (2016: 58) suggests that this borrowing may have happened later, but it is difficult
(if not impossible) to think of any period after the end of the “Uruk Expansion” and
before the Sargonic conquest of Khuzestan during which Inana’s cult could have been
established at Susa, an event that could have only resulted from a strong Babylonian
presence there.
6 As shown by the shape of tablets, the arrangement of writing, and the use of sexagesimal
counting system (Englund 2004).
7 Another reflection of this cultural independence are the Proto-­Elamite cylinder seals,
which, though often impressed on Proto-­Elamite tablets in the manner used in Babylonia,
show characteristically different designs than those found on Late Uruk seals (Pittman
1992: 69–77).
8 This toponym may appear already in an Uruk III tablet, which lists, among several slave
women, 1 SAL+ZATU751 ELAM.KI (MSVO 1 217 iii:2).
9 Another example here is a vessel fragment from Adab depicting a procession of musicians
(Aruz 2003: 333–334, no. 230; Steinkeller 2013b: 267).
10 Arawa (Uru’a) is probably to be sought in northwestern Khuzestan (Steinkeller 1982:
244–246). Pashime (Mishime), which was situated on the Persian Gulf, has positively
been identified as the modern Tell Abu Sheeja, located 66 km north of Amarah (Steinkeller
1982: 240–243; Hussein et al. 2010).
11 Another related battle, involving Akshak, Kish and Mari, was likewise fought within
Lagash’s territory, at a place called Antasura.
12 This stone, which was extensively used in 3rd millennium Susa and other Khuzestani sites
to produce vessels, bas-­relief plaques and other types of objects, has recently been identi-
fied as a naturally occurring rock from the Middle Jurassic Sargelu formation in northern
Iraq and Iran (Connan 2012: 156–117). Previously, it was thought that it is a synthetic
compound of bitumen mixed with ground calcite and quartz (Deschesne 1992).
13 Awan is mentioned only twice in Sargonic sources, in both instances referring to a specific
locale, which may be identical with the later city of AdamDUN (Frayne 1993: 22–24,
Sargon 8, Caption 15; 51–58, Rimush 6:37–42 = Rimush 7:13–18 = Rimush 8:12–14).
14 The goddess Narundi is named also in an inscription of Manishtushu’s official Eshpum
(see Manishtushu).
15 Probably situated in the highlands, southeast of Khuzestan.
16 Sargon’s conflict with Arawa and Elam is also commemorated in two of his year-­formulae
(Gelb and Kienast 1990: 50, D-3 and D-4).
17 For Sabum, see n. 15. Except for Gar-­NE-NE, which is also mentioned in an inscription
of Puzur-­Mama (see Post-­Sargonic Period), and which is known to have belonged in Ur

198
 — The birth of Elam in history —

III times to the ma-­da peripheral system (see Ur III Period), the remaining toponyms are
documented only here.
18 The only other attestation of this polity is found in one of the year-­formulae of Shar-­kali-­
sharri (Gelb and Kienast 1990: 54, D-25 and D-26), according to which Shar-­kali-­sharri
defeated the armies of Elam and Zahara near Akshak (in the Diyala region).
19 Bahrani (1992: 87) thinks that this statue is an ancient artifact, which Eshpum re-­used for
that purpose. More likely, however, it is a piece of local Susian art, which simply shows
archaic features.
20 This is suggested by his victories over Lullubum (Frayne 1993: 143–144, Naram-­Suen 31),
which was situated in the central Zagros, and his victory over Abullat, a critical point in
charge of the later Great Khurasan Road (Gelb and Kienast 1994: 331, D-66; Steinkeller
2013a: 310).
21 These are probably Babylonian hypostases of undetermined Elamite deities. The only
exception here may be the war-­god Ilaba, an erstwhile god of Akkade and one of the
patrons of the Sargonic dynasty, who is mentioned, together with the deified battle stan-
dard (dšu-­nir), as a recipient of offerings in two Susa texts (MDP 14 51, vi:2–4 and 71,
ix:7–8). Since these sources record the allotments of barley for the employees and animals
of Susa’s palatial organization (e2-gal), it is possible that this institution was specifically
dedicated to Ilaba.
22 Hinz’s (1967) restorations and translation are grossly overconfident, and so they cannot
be relied on. Even more questionable is his reconstruction of the historical background of
this inscription (Hinz 1967: 95–96), which may only be characterized as pure fantasy. For
now, the sober assessment of this document offered by König (1965: 29, n. 7) still holds
true: “Die Inschrift fällt völlig aus dem Rahmen aller sonst bekannten; ausserdem sind
fast alle Verba nicht übersetzbar, Sprache und Schreibungen abweichend. An eine ganze
Übersetzung ist nicht zu denken bis auf Versuche”.
3
2 He is documented from year Shulgi 44 to year Shu-­Suen 8.
24 In one instance, a group of Duhduhni soldiers is said to arrive from Anshan (Reisner 1901
204), suggesting that Duhduhni was Anshan’s neighbor.

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 CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE OLD ELAMITE PERIOD

Luca Peyronel

INTRODU CTIO N
The period spanning from the end of the Ur III control over Susa to the beginning
of the so-­called Kidinuid dynasty in Elam roughly corresponds to the Middle Bronze
Age (c. 2000–1600/1550 BC) and saw the alternation of the Shimashki dynasty and
that of the grand regents of Elam (Sukkalmah, or Epartids, from the name of the
probable founder, Eparti/Ebarti). It was a period in which Elam was fully indepen-
dent, with firm control over the territories of south-­western Iran, from the Zagros
mountains to the Susiana plain, up to the shores of the Persian Gulf. But the heart
of the kingdom was in Fars, with its ‘capital’ Anshan, identified as Tal-­i Malyan in
the Marv Dasht plain. At this time, Elam had a structured political framework, with
the paramount authority represented by the Sukkalmah, flanked by the Sukkal of
Elam (and Shimahski) and by the Sukkal of Susa. It probably also had other author-
ities who are less clear, with complex mechanisms of succession quite different from
those of Mesopotamia that must have grown up within a confederation that united
territories occupied by settled and nomadic peoples and tribes, finding a compromise
between kinship forms and political hierarchies.
We know little of the equilibrium of this association, in the absence of explicit
documents regarding the kingdom’s internal structure, but it probably had its roots in
earlier times (the Awan Dynasty) and took shape during the period of military pres-
sure applied by Ur III (Shimashki Dynasty). At least initially it was a subdivided state
which contained a plurality of entities and powers but which undoubtedly devel-
oped into a more close-­knit and stable structure during the Epartid Dynasty. It was
a powerful kingdom that extended eastwards and possessed in the Iranian highlands
an almost inexhaustible pool of resources; it opened onto the Persian Gulf, but was
above all ready to play a leading role in the Mesopotamian arena. The latter aspect
of Elamite politics is recorded almost exclusively by the scarce references in written
sources, though these are indirect and come from the cities of Mesopotamia (Ur,
Isin, Larsa, Babylon, Eshnunna, Mari), and virtually nothing is known about what
happened on the eastern front. The ease of penetration, especially in the region of
Diyala (Eshnunna), where the influence exerted by Elam was at times very strong,
reveals expansionist ambitions. A similar picture is obtained from documents from
203
 — L u c a Pe y r o n e l —

Mari dating to the time of Zimri-­Lim, when the Elamite king Sheplarkak (Siwe-­Palar-­
huppak) seems to have been the main power even in the Mesopotamian arena. Only
Hammurabi of Babylon was able to contest this role, inflicting a crushing defeat
on Elam, but retaliation came during the reign of his son Samu-­iluna, when Kutir-­
Nahhunte I  invaded the lands of Mesopotamia and even threatened the capital.
Unfortunately, very little is known of the last phase of the dynasty, but references in
texts to numerous princes who could rule simultaneously are evidence of the progres-
sive disintegration of the internal political system, perhaps accentuated by a wide-
spread crisis that also affected Mesopotamia during the 16th century BC and marks
the passage from the Middle to the Late Bronze Age in the ancient Near East.

CHRONOLOGY AND TE RM INO L O G Y

The chronology of Elam during the Shimashki and Sukkalmah dynasties is con-
structed on the basis of historical synchronisms with Mesopotamia known from the
period of Ur III onwards, which allow the sequence of Elamite rulers – built up using
a variety of sources – to be tied into the historical events of the ancient Near East.
In this chapter, absolute dates are given according to the conventional Middle
Chronology and the time span considered roughly corresponds to the Middle Bronze
Age of Mesopotamia, between the fall of Ur (2004 BC) and Babylon (1595 BC). The
so-­called New Low Chronology, which moves the dates about one century forwards
(respectively, 1911 BC and 1499 BC), proposed by the Belgian school on the basis of
a revision of the stratigraphic sequences of Mesopotamian sites and of textual and
astronomical data (Gasche et al. 1998; Warburton 2011), is not readily applicable to
the sequences of Assyria, Syria and Anatolia, and convincing arguments have been
advanced (based on both scientific date determinations and historical and epigraph-
ical considerations) in favour of using the Middle Chronology (with possibly minor
adoptions from the so-­called Low-­Middle Chronology) for the Old Assyrian rulers,
the kārum of Kültpe/Kanesh and the kingdom of Mari (Bloch 2014; Manning et al.
2016). In recent studies on Elam, both Middle and Low Chronologies have been
adopted. For example, the latest overview of Susa (Steve et al. 2002) and the most
recent publications of Susian cuneiform texts (De Graef 2005; 2006) use the Low
Chronology, whereas in the volume on history and philology in the interregional
ARCANE series, the chapter on the Ur III and Susa Shimashki period employs  –
­certainly for reasons of internal uniformity – the Middle Chronology (De Graef 2015),
as too does the work on Elamite archaeology by D.T. Potts (1999 and new edition
2015). The chronology of Elam is dependent on that of Mesopotamia and itself fur-
nishes no direct evidence that could be the basis for a choice. However, Vallat (2000)
considers the Low Chronology more suitable to explain the sequence of rulers sub-
sequent to the latest synchronism of the Sukkalmah period (between Kuk-­Nashur II
and Ammi-­saduqa of Babylon) and the earliest known for the Middle Elamite period
(between Tepti-­ahar and the Kassite ruler Kadashman-­Kharbe; Cole and De Meyer
1999). Since the latter is reliably dated to c. 1400 BC (the Late Bronze Age is not
affected by these different chronological options), the use of the Middle Chronology
for Ammi-­saduqa (1646–1626 BC) would give an interval of two-­and-­a-­half centu-
ries, which is too long to cover the sovereigns attested during this time span. How-
ever, this does not seem to be a compelling reason to prefer the Lower Chronology,

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since there is no proof that the sequence of the last Sukkalmah and Kidinuid kings is
complete. At present, therefore, the Middle Chronology still offers greater uniformity
throughout the Near East, allowing the available dynastic sequences, from the Levant
to Elam, to be linked together without substantial problems.
The succession of the Awan, Shimashki and Sukkalmah dynasties furnishes a polit-
ical chronological framework and permits correlation between Elam and the Akkad,
Ur III and Old Babylonian periods in Mesopotamia. Independently of the use of a
middle or low chronology, a tripartite division of the ‘Paléo-­élamite’/’Old Elamite’
period has been proposed (Vallat 1998; Steve et al. 2002) as follows:

Old Elamite IA-B = ED II-III and Akkad/Awan dynasty – c. 2800/2700–2100 BC

Old Elamite II = Ur III/Shimashki dynasty – c. 2100–1980/1950 BC
Old Elamite III  =  Old Babylonian/Sukkalmah or Epartides dynasty (c. 1980–
1600/1550 BC)

In this general periodization of the 3rd and first half of the 2nd millennium BC, the
Proto-­Elamite phase (c. 3100–2800 BC) is followed directly by the beginning of the
earliest phase of the Paléo-­Elamite/Old Elamite. From a purely conventional perspec-
tive, the terminology of this division does not correspond to those in use in the Near
East; it would perhaps be preferable to introduce an Early Elamite phase (in analogy
with Early Dynastic/Early Syrian) and use the definition Old Elamite only from the
end of Ur III; that is, from the beginning of the Middle Bronze Age.
In a historical periodization linked with Mesopotamia the Sukkalmah epoch may
be divided into two macro-­phases, roughly corresponding to the Middle Bronze Age,
with possible sub-­phasing on the basis of historical and archaeological criteria:

Middle Bronze I – Early Sukkalmah = Isin-­Larsa – c. 1980/1950–1800 BC

Middle Bronze II – Late Sukkalmah = Old Babylonian – c. 1800–1600/1550 BC

It is not currently possible to propose an independent archaeological subdivision

based on find classes (pottery to glyptics), stratigraphic seriation and radiocarbon
datings, although the stratigraphic sequence of Ville Royale A and B in Susa (B VII-V
and A XV-XIII) may be correlated with the period of Shimashki and Sukkalmah on
the basis of writings found in the various phases (Steve et al. 1980).
The division between the Early and Middle Bronze corresponds in the Mesopota-
mian periodization to the end of Ur III, while the onset of the Amorite dynasties (during
the so-­called period of Isin and Larsa), followed by the rise of the Old Babylonian king-
dom, covered a time span of about four centuries (c. 2000–1600 BC), which saw the
intense participation of Elam in Mesopotamian political events during the Shimashki
and Sukkalmah dynasties (Charpin 2004). The history of politics and other happenings
in the Elamite kingdom may be reconstructed almost exclusively from indirect Meso-
potamian sources, connected by means of several decisive synchronisms, but very little
is known of the political situation within the Elamite confederation, especially with
regard to relations eastwards. It is thus largely an indirect history involving international
manoeuvres on the chessboard of the Mesopotamian plain. Further strengthening this
westward bias is the fact that almost all of the Elamite textual information comes from
Susa, which was always largely oriented towards the Mesopotamian lowlands.

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EPI G RAPHIC AND ARCHA E O L O G ICAL S O U RCE S

Written sources
Direct epigraphic sources pertaining to the Sukkalmah period are all written in Akka-
dian (only a few texts from Susa and Tal-­i Malyan, a royal stela and some inscriptions
on silver vessels of unknown provenance are written in the Elamite language: De Graef
2006: nos. 30, 82; Farber 1975; Mahboubian 2004: 44–49) and come from a small
number of sites (Susa, Choga Gavaneh, Tal-­i Malyan, Liyan) or the antiquities market.
The most substantial and varied inventory is from Susa and is made up of cuneiform
tablets, building inscriptions, seal legends and inscriptions on other artifacts. To the
Sukkalmah epoch material must be added texts of the Sukkalmahs recopied by Mid-
dle Elamite kings and information given in Middle Elamite building inscriptions.

Lists and royal inscriptions

Whereas for the Shimashki dynasty a sequence of rulers is given in the Awan and Shi-
mashki ‘Royal List’ from Susa (Scheil 1931; Gelb and Kienast 1990: 317–318), dated
to the Old Babylonian period, we lack textual evidence of the dynastic sequence during
the Sukkalmah epoch. However, a series of Old Elamite rulers are mentioned in the
‘Genealogy of Shilkak-­Inshushinak’, a list of his predecessors drawn up by this king
in the 12th century BC, of which three different versions are known (König 1965:
110–115 no. 48). Shilkak-­Inshushinak tells us that these sovereigns were known thanks
to the discovery of inscribed bricks during restoration work on the religious buildings
on the acropolis of Susa. Large numbers of building inscriptions relating to several rul-
ers of Elam dating from the Shimashki (Idaddu-­Inshushinak=Idaddu I, Tan-­Ruhurater,
Idaddu II) and Sukkalmah period (Kuk-­Kirmash, Atta-­hushu, Temti-­Agun, Kuk-­Nashur
and Temti-­halki) were in fact found in Susa; as well as providing valuable information
about Susa’s public buildings (which are virtually unknown archaeologically), they give
important data on the members of the Epartid dynasty (Malbran-­Labat 1995: 24–51
and Chapter 23 this volume; Potts 2010). Other royal building inscriptions come from
Choga Pan West (a brick fragment of Temti-­Agun; Steve 1987: no. 1), Tal-­i Malyan (a
brick of Siwe-­palar-­huppak and five other fragmentary bricks with portions of titula-
ture; Stolper 1982: 57–61), and on the Persian Gulf coast at Tol-­e Peytul/Liyan (an ala-
baster socle with a dedicatory inscription of Simut-­wartash; Pézard 1914: 91, Pl. 13:4).
Seal legends and dedicatory inscriptions on other objects also give precious infor-
mation, such as the owner’s or dedicator’s name, perhaps their occupation and in
some cases a reference to the reigning sovereign. However, there exists no single
inventory of these inscriptions, descriptions of which are to be found in numerous
publications (Potts 2015: tab. 6.1). The catalogue of P. Amiet (1972, expanded by
Amiet 1980), is fundamental for inscribed seals and sealings, whereas the epigraphic
material (including glyptics) from Tall-­i Malyan is still almost entirely unpublished.

Administrative and economic texts

Susa yielded more than 700 economic, administrative and legal documents written
in Sumerian and Akkadian which can be dated to the end of the 3rd and the first
half of the 2nd millennium BC (Lambert 1991; De Graef 2013). Most were found

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in the 20th century during R. de Mecquenem’s excavations and published mainly

by V. Scheil, with or without very general information on their context of discovery
(Scheil 1908: nos. 1–124; Dossin 1927: nos. 67–249; Scheil 1930; 1932; 1933; 1939).
Only for the tablets unearthed during Ghirshman’s excavations of the Ville Royale
(Steve et al. 1980: 119–133) are the circumstances in which they were found reliably
known; an archaeological reference sequence covering the entire period from the Shi-
mashki to the Sukkalmah dynasties is available. Those from Sounding B have been
published recently (De Graef 2005; 2006; 2007).
Susa texts are mainly lists of household goods, various kind of loans and documents
concerning the sale/purchase of various portable objects and property (houses and
land). The documents never have a precise date formula (unlike the Ur III texts from
the site, which specify the year of the king’s reign), but the presence of inscribed seal
impressions and references to high officials and rulers (as well as other prosopograph-
ical information) make them an important source for the chronology of the Shimashki
and Sukkalmah dynastic sequences (De Graef 2008a). The oath formulas of the eco-
nomic/legal texts commonly include the names of rulers, often mentioned together with
their successors or predecessors, and thus constitute the best source for building a rel-
ative chronological sequence, although there are gaps and the problem of homonymy.
A few unpublished administrative texts dated to the Kaftari period come from
Malyan (Stolper 1982: 57), and the small archive of Choga Ghavaneh is the only
other important textual source for this period. The latter may be dated to the 18th
century and was found in a room (B15) of a partially excavated public (?) building.
It consists of 56 administrative records (plus 26 fragments) related to husbandry and
agriculture, with a predominance of lists of rations or persons, receipts or commod-
ity supply records (Abdi and Beckman 2007). The site is located in western Iran,
and might have been part of the area controlled by Elam near the boundary with
Eshnunna, although the texts (written in Akkadian) do not mention the Elamites and
personal names are overwhelmingly Akkadian, with a few Amorite names.
The presence of administrative and economic activities involving textual records
are attested by a series of clay labels and sealings from Tepe Hissar in north-­eastern
Iran (Phase IIIC, c. 2200–1800 BC), showing that an area much larger than Khu-
zistan and Fars was probably incorporated in the Old Elamite realm, although it
remains elusive and virtually unknown (Farokhnia and De Graef 2016).

Scholastic and mathematical texts

The considerable number of scholastic and mathematical texts discovered at Susa
show the presence of a local scribal tradition during the Sukkalmah period (Malayeri
2013). The tablets found during de Mecquenem’s and previous excavations (Dos-
sin 1927, nos. 1–66; Van der Meer 1935; Bruins and Rutten 1961) can be dated
on palaeographic criteria to the Old Elamite period, a chronology confirmed by the
group of 30 tablets from stratified contexts in Ville Royale B VII-V (Tanret 1986).

‘Funerary’ texts
A small group of seven cuneiform texts comes from an area east of the Achaemenid
palace of Darius at Susa in which several Elamite tombs were found by de Mecquenem

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between 1912 and 1914 (Steve and Gasche 1996; Tavernier 2013). They might be,
therefore, related to this funerary context, associated perhaps with a vaulted tomb,
and probably date to the very end of the Sukkalmah period. Their content shows the
specificity of Elamite rituals concerning the netherworld, and they have been inter-
preted as a sort of guide for the dead to reach the place of final judgement by the
Annunaki, the infernal gods.

Susian texts and inscriptions contain rulers’ names, royal titles and useful data regard-
ing political organization: dedicatory and royal inscriptions reveal aspects of ideol-
ogy, cult and religion, while economic documents – several of which can be grouped
into archives of families or officials – mainly refer to socio-­economic structures and
business activities. However, it must be recalled again that almost all the written
sources of this period come from Susa, which was certainly a strategic center for the
political control of an important part of the realm but was also deeply influenced by
Mesopotamian culture and was only one – the westernmost – of the major Elamite
urban settlements. The Sukkalmah probably resided also in Anshan, where it is likely
that important ‘central’ archives were kept, but as yet nothing is known of what must
have been the political centre of Elam. The archive of Choga Ghavaneh, on the other
hand, provides an example of local administration that seems practically identical
to that of Diyala (Eshnunna), although the town itself is in an area that at this time
appears to have been under Elamite political control.
Another serious problem is that direct epigraphic sources are silent about his-
torical events and lacking in interregional geopolitical references, and consequently
our understanding of the period’s history is mainly based upon those Mesopotamian
texts that mention Elam.

Mesopotamian texts
Ur III texts shed light on the period of control over Susa and Susiana and on the king-
dom’s relations with eastern political entities and especially with Shimashki (Stolper
1982; Steinkeller 2007; 2014). Shimashkian rulers mentioned in the Shimashkian King
List are attested in Ur III sources (Yabrat=Ebarti I, from Shulgi 44 to Shu-­Sin 8, Kirnam-
me=Girnamme in Shu-­Sin 4 and 5, Ta’azite=Tazitte I or II, in Amar-­Suen 8 and Shu-­Sin
2) and, after the fall of Ur, in a hymn of Ishbi-­Erra (Kindattu) and in a text from Isin
dated to Ishbi-­Erra 16 (Kindattu and Idattu) (Quintana 1998). Royal brick inscriptions
and seals from Susa attest a marriage between Tan-­Ruhuratir and Mê-­Kubi, daughter
of Bilalama of Eshnunna (Peyronel 2013: 52–54), and the first year of his reign Iddin-­
Dagan of Isin reports an earlier wedding between his daughter, Mātum-­niattum, and a
king of Anshan, possibly Imazu, crown prince at the time of Kindattu (Vallat 1996b).
A variety of Mesopotamian sources from the Sukkalmah period contain historical
references to Elam and Elamite kings that have been used to build up a very gen-
eral outline of the relationship between Elam and Mesopotamia (Vallat 1996a; Potts
2015: 155–161). Two year names of Gungunum of Larsa (1932–1906 BC) allow the
reconstruction of military campaigns against Pashime and Anshan (Sigrist 1990: 7),
which perhaps resulted in a period of control over part of Elam, while later events
point to greater Elamite involvement in Mesopotamian affairs. Thus, the Elamites
were allied with Zambiya of Isin (1836–1834 BC) against Larsa (as mentioned in
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Sin-­iqisham of Larsa year name 5: Sigrist 1990: 29) and in the period dominated by
the expansionist policies of Shamshi-­Addu I  of Assyria (1813–1781 BC or 1808–
1776 according to the Old Assyrian eponym list: Bloch 2014) in the Trans-­Tigridian
and Zagros regions, the most significant references are in an epistolary text from
Shusharra (Tell Shemshara in the Ranja Plain), where the local ruler reports to the
king on activities of Shuruhtuh (= Siruk-­tuh), king of Elam (Eidem and Lassoe 2001:
32–33). According to the ‘Assyrian Chronicle’ of Mari, Ipiq-­Adad II of Eshnunna was
defeated by an unnamed Elamite king (Birot 1985: 229 B 8), possibly the same Siruk-­
tuh of the Shemshara texts, and a broken stela from an unknown Iranian site records
the names of a list of places conquered probably also by this king (Farber 1975).
The conquest of Larsa by Kudur-­mabuk of Yamutbal (c. 1835 BC) gave rise to
a dynasty (with his sons Warad-­Sin, 1834–1823 BC, and Rim-­Sin, 1822–1763 BC)
which seems to be related in some way to Elam, since his father, Shemti-­Shilhak, has a
linguistically Elamite name (Henkelman 2010). It is not a surprise that texts from Larsa
mention many individuals with Elamite personal names (Zadok 1987: 6–11), although
they are not informative regarding possible Larsa-­Elam historical connections, with
the exception of a letter sent possibly by Rim-­Sin to a Larsa official at the court of
Eshnunna during the reign of Dadusha (1792–1779 BC), where it is said that ‘the great
king of Elam’ was consulted in order to arbitrate a dispute (Rowton 1967: 269).
After the death of Shamshi-­Addu of Assyria, the Elamite expansion in Mesopo-
tamia became stronger, leading to the conquest of Eshnunna thanks to an alliance
with Babylon and Mari. The archives from the latter kingdom at the time of Zimri-­
Lim inform us on these crucial years (Zimri-­Lim 7–11; Charpin and Ziegler 2003:
206–230). They mention Siwe-­palar-­huppak (Sheplarkak), Kudu-­zulush, as well as an
anonymous Sukkalmah, who was probably the same Siwe-­palar-­huppak, and show
intense diplomatic relations and commercial exchanges with Elam (Joannès 1991),
then abruptly interrupted and followed by a phase of aggressive Elamite policy in
Mesopotamia (Charpin and Durand 1991; Charpin 2013; Durand 1994; 2013).
The change in the situation is shown by a letter describing the oath of alliance
between Hammurapi of Babylon and Zimri-­Lim of Mari against Siwe-­palar-­huppak
of Elam (Charpin 1990), and year name 13 of Hammurapi (1792–1750 BC) can be
related to a victory against Elam and other allies (van Koppen 2013: 377). After the
defeat of Elam by Hammurapi, few historical references are available: a year formula
of Abi-­eshuh (1711–1684 BC) attests another victory against Elam (van Koppen
2013: 377–379) and a text from Dilbat allows an important synchronism between
Kuknashur (II) and Ammi-­Saduqa I (1646–1626 BC) (Vallat 1993b). Late Old Baby-
lonian administrative texts from Sippar dated to Ammisaduqa record Elamite slaves
and soldiers at the service of the palace (De Graef 1999: 16–19), and in the cuneiform
tablets from the First Sea-­Land dynasty (Dalley 2009) there are also some references
to Elamite messengers and Elamite people, but no mention of rulers. These texts
are the latest Mesopotamian sources – though poorly informative ones – concerning
Elam in the obscure transition phase between the Old and Middle Elamite periods.

Archaeological sources
With regard to archaeological evidence too, there is heavy dependence on Khuzestan
and Susa (Álvarez-Mon 2013). The settlement pattern of the Susian plain during the
Old Elamite period has been outlined in the surveys carried out from the 1960s to
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late 1970s (Carter 1971: 173–185; Carter and Stolper 1984: 150): during the Shi-
mashki phase, Susa is the only large town in central Khuzistan (with an estimated
area of c. 50 ha), followed by Choga Pahn (c. 10 ha), ten medium-­sized settlements
or ‘small towns’ (4–10 ha) and nine small villages (0–4 ha). The Sukkalmah period
was marked by a significant population increase: all sites of the previous period con-
tinued to be occupied, and 20 new villages plus one large site (>10 ha) appeared.
Susa probably reached a maximum size of 85 ha, but very little is known of the city’s
urban layout.
The Mianab plain and the ‘eastern corridor’ bridging central Susiana and Ram
Hormuz have recently been surveyed, revealing a distribution of small settlements
dating to the first half of the 2nd millennium BC (Moghaddam and Miri 2003: 102,
Figure 5; 2007: 35, 38), and a similar situation has been observed in the Ram Hormuz
(Wright and Carter 2003) and Izeh further south and east (Bayani 1979: 99–103).
The urban organization of Susa in the Shimashki and Sukkalmah periods is virtually
unknown. Ghirshman’s excavations in the Ville Royale (Soundings A and B) brought
to light two domestic quarters located at the southern and northern edge of the mound,
with a long sequence of building phases well dated by the presence of seals and cune-
iform tablets from the Ur III-Shimashki period to the end of the Epartides dynasty
(Ghirshman 1965a; 1965b; 1967; 1968; Steve et al. 1980). During the Shimahski (B
Level VII-VI)/Early Sukkalmah (B Level V and A Level XV) period, houses were smaller
and less uniform with respect to the following phase (A Level XIV-XIII), when large
dwellings were recorded, with rooms centred on paved internal courtyards, and blocks
of buildings divided by a main street off which led a number of alleys.
Public buildings were probably concentrated on the Acropole, and perhaps also on
the Apadana mound (Steve and Gasche 1990), which has been suggested as the pos-
sible location of the Elamite palace area (Ghirshman 1968: 6–7; Vallat 1999), though
these were almost entirely eliminated by subsequent building activity. The presence
of several temples dating to the Old Elamite period are indicated by inscribed bricks
found on the Acropole; a well-­preserved building excavated in the Ville Royale by de
Mecquenem might be identified as a temple on the basis of six terracotta lions found
nearby (de Mecquenem 1943a: 53–55).
Important evidence was provided by the discovery of a large number of burials
and tombs, in particular during de Mecquenem’s excavation of the Apadana, Ville
Royale (1 and 2) and Donjon (de Mecquenem 1943b). Unfortunately, the rather
superficial published information does not permit reliable cross-­referencing between
all the tombs and grave goods, and above all does not allow the positions of the Ur
III-Shimashki, Sukkalmah and Middle Elamite period tombs to be identified with cer-
tainty. However, it is possible to date the introduction of the bath-­tub coffins during
the Ur III period and their use especially at the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC,
while the vaulted tombs, built with fired bricks and used for multiple/family(?) buri-
als, might be assigned to a later Sukkalmah phase; they remained in use also during
the Middle and Neo-­Elamite periods.
In the Susiana plain, a few other Old Elamite sites have been investigated: a build-
ing with painted walls considered a fortress or temple was excavated at Choga Mish
(Kantor 1977: 14), and a short season of archaeological research was conducted
at Tepe Sharafabad, a small village founded during the Sukkalmah period where
an inscribed seal and a fragmentary cuneiform tablet were retrieved in association

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with some dwellings (Schacht 1975). A Sukkalmah phase at Haft Tepe has been only
recently recognized, as well as the presence of Middle Elamite building levels preced-
ing occupation in the time of Tepti-­ahar (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014: 102–106; 2015;
2016: 97–98, tab. 1). The earliest settlement evidence comes from the trench IV, and
ongoing excavation will surely shed more light on this crucial phase in the history of
Elam.
The regions north of Susiana have revealed a considerable number of settlements
occupied during Old Elamite times, although few extensive excavations yielded archi-
tectural remains and stratified contexts with in-­situ material (Potts 2013). In the Deh
Luran plain, a rampart dating to the Middle Bronze Age was discovered at Tepe
Farukhabad (Wright 1981: 196–199, 219–221), and some other settlements of the
period have been identified by surface finds (Wright and Neely 2010: 14–15).
Late 3rd and early 2nd millennium levels in Luristan are attested at Godin Tepe (III:
4–1), Tepe Giyan, Kamtarlan, Chiga Sabz and several other sites (Henrickson 1984).
A  building discovered at Choga Ghavane can be dated to the Middle Bronze Age
thanks to the presence of a small archive of cuneiform texts; it constitutes the most
significant evidence for the existence of small administrative centres in the region
(Abdi and Beckman 2007). Early Bronze Age graveyards located along the Zagros
and in Pusht-­i Kuh (e.g. Kalleh Nisar; Haerinck and Overlaet 2008) also show conti-
nuity of use during the early centuries of the 2nd millennium BC.
In Fars, survey work conducted in the River Kur Basin has furnished data regard-
ing the growth of settlement during the Early and Middle Bronze Age (Banesh and
Kafatari phases) (Sumner 1989; see also McCall 2013a). Ninety-­four sites have been
assigned to the Kaftari period (named after Tal-­i Kaftari) and divided into four hier-
archical levels (Malyan, three towns, seven large villages, 82 small villages), with the
identification of different zones, each with distinctive characteristics, in the settlement
distribution.
Tal-­i Malyan, identified with Anshan (Reiner 1973), was the largest site in the
River Kur basin (the second-­largest site, Qaleh, covers 15 ha) and its Kaftari sequence
is chronologically divided into Early (2200–1900 BC), Middle (1900–1800 BC) and
Late Kaftari (1800–1600 BC) ‘stages’ (Sumner 1988). The site grew from c. 40 ha (at
the end of the 3rd millennium BC) to a maximum size of 130 ha during the Middle
Kaftari; a slight reduction in area has been postulated in the Late Kaftari, when the
site is thought to have contracted to 98 ha.
The ancient site was protected by a massive city wall in the Kaftari period, and
levels dating to this period were found to be present in several excavation areas and
soundings, although they have not yet been published (Nickerson 1983; 1991). The
most important data came from Operation ABC, in which a refuse deposit 2–3 m
deep with a large amount of pottery and small finds was excavated (Sumner 1974:
164–173). Operation GHI brought to light the remains of buildings and associated
deposits with many finds, including tablets and sealings. Operation FX106 unearthed
five levels and a domestic structure. A transitional Banesh-­Kaftari phase was iden-
tified in Sounding H5 of Operation GHI, showing that a hiatus between the two
periods, previously thought to last from 2800 BC to 2200 BC, was more brief – if not
indeed completely non-­existent (Miller and Sumner 2004).
The region between Khuzistan and Fars has been investigated, especially in the
Behbahan/Zohreh plain (Dittmann 1984; 1986), and additional data on the Old

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Elamite occupation in western Fars comes from reconnaissance in the Mamasani

district and excavations at Tol-­e Spid and Tol-­e Nurabad (Potts et al. 2009; McCall
2013b), where the rock-­relief of Kurangun, probably dating to the Sukkalmah period,
is also located (Seidl 1986; Binder 2013; Álvarez-­Mon 2014).
Lastly, the region of Bushehr on the Persian Gulf coast might have been an import-
ant area controlled by the Elamite kingdom, as indicated by finds discovered during
an excavation season at Tul-­e Peytul (ancient Liyan) in the early 1890s (Pézard 1914;
see also Potts 2003), although a recent survey carried out by an Iranian-­British team
failed to identify diagnostic pottery reliably datable to the Middle Bronze Age (Carter
et al. 2006).
Our knowledge of the main classes of finds from this epoch (mainly pottery, metal
items, terracotta figurines and glyptics; Potts 2015: 141–144, 162–167) and their
assessment with regard to affinities and chronology is restricted to the sequences
from Susa (e.g. Amiet 1972; Gasche 1973; Tallon 1987; Spycket 1992), while to the
objects from the Kaftari levels in Malyan, Fars (currently unpublished) new material
has been recently added, and a reliable regional pottery sequence is being built up
(Petrie et al. 2005; 2016). Most recent efforts have been directed on the analysis of
glyptic styles, especially on the ‘Anshanite’ production, trying to distinguish different
types and their chronological development (Ascalone 2010; 2011; Neumann 2013).

A SKETCH OF POLITICAL HIS TO RY D U RING

THE SUKKALM AH P E RIO D
From the end of Ur III to the beginning of the Sukkalmah dynasty
Mesopotamian texts allow us to speculate on the countries, territories and political
entities located in western Iran and Fars, especially during the period of the 3rd
dynasty of Ur. At that time Shimashki and Shimashkian rulers are attested in Neo-­
Sumerian documents and inscriptions, and the original nucleus of this political entity
clearly lies outside Susiana. The geographical name is written in Akkadian (Ší-­maš-­ki)
but is also found in Sumerian rebus writing (LÚ.SUki) (Steinkeller 1988; 1990; contra
Vallat 1993a and Steve et  al. 2002: 432–4, where the expression is interpreted as
SU-people, postulating another political power in Susiana).
At Susa the presence of documents dating from Ur III year names stops at Ibbi-­
Sin 3, and the following loss of control of the eastern area is accompanied by the
establishment of a Shimashki territorial state, although this was made up of different
interrelated regional powers (De Graef 2008b; 2015). The end of the Ur III dynasty
was in fact marked by the destruction of the capital itself by Elam in the 24th year
of the reign of Ibbi-­Sin, a traumatic event that was long remembered in the Meso-
potamian world in hymns, lamentations and historical omens, but of which there is
no direct evidence in Elamite inscriptions (Michalowski 1989). In literary texts, the
cause of the disintegration and collapse of the kingdom of Ur are attributed – with no
particular priority – on one hand, to an internal agricultural crisis, and on the other,
to the invasion by Gutian and Shimashki peoples who spread from the Zagros into
the eastern provinces (Lagash) but also entered cities in the centre, finally reaching
even the southernmost, Eridu. Accounts of the fall of the capital speak of a long siege
and final surrender, with Ibbi-­Sin taken prisoner and deported. The looting of the city

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 — The Old Elamite period —

must have been devastating, the temples desecrated and the heart of what had been
until just a few years before the most powerful kingdom of the epoch occupied by a
garrison of Elamites – which lasted until Ishbi-­Erra of Isin regained control of Ur. The
name Ibbi-­Sin became synonymous with misfortune, as witnessed by later collections
of omens which contain texts such as: “harbinger of Ibbi-­Sin, under whom Elam
reduced Ur to a pile of rubble”.
South-­western Iran during the Ur III period was included in the ma-­da, a strip
that protected the centre of the realm and contained towns directly controlled by
governors or senior military officials (e.g. Susa, Sabum and Urua) and independent
territories (Shimashki, Zabshali, Anshan, Huhnur, Kimash and Hu’urti) with which
political relations varied (Steinkeller 1987). Year names record inter-­dynastic mar-
riages, such as that between a daughter of Shulgi and a ruler of Anshan, but also
military clashes to make clear Ur’s supremacy over the region. Thus Shulgi 34 records
the destruction of Anshan and in the 7th year of Shu-­Sin that of Shimashki/Zabshali
(Potts 2015: tab. 5.2).
Different ‘lands’ of Shimashki are cited in Mesopotamian texts, and they can be
located in the eastern region of the ma-­da. We know their names thanks to the his-
torical inscriptions of Shu-­Sin in particular, which describe the military campaign he
conducted in year 7. Two variants of a text copied from a statue or a victory stela
listed several principalities/districts of Shimashki (Zabshali, Shigrish, Yabulmat, Alu-
midatum, Karta, Shatilu and other smaller places), of which Zabshali was undoubt-
edly the most important (Kutscher 1989: 90–91; Steinkeller 2014: 291).
The Ur III documentation thus testifies to the presence of different political entities
which were not unified in a centralized political structure. It is likely that Ur’s military
campaigns created the need for greater political cohesion between the Elamite can-
tons and tribal lands, through alliances and affiliations (Stolper 1982: 49–54). The
control obtained by Shimashki over Susa and Khuzistan at the time of the last king
of Ur as a result of this catalytic process enabled the acquisition of Mesopotamian
management, political and administrative structures, which conferred a significant
advantage with respect to possible competitors for the area. The occurrence of differ-
ent titles among the Shimashkian rulers (lugal, ensi, GÌR.NÍTA), might be considered
an indication that the territory maintained a certain level of regional autonomy, and
although it is inappropriate to define it as a real ‘federal state’, it has been rightly
underlined that Shimashki (and Elam in a wider chronological perspective) resembles
a ‘segmentary state’, which is characterized by competition between its various poly-
centric components, with a hierarchical structure with sectors enjoying comparable
powers and a coexistence of interacting peripheral powers (Potts 2015: 145–146).
Twelve Shimashkian kings (lugal) are enumerated in the ‘Royal List of Awan and
Shimashki’, a document drafted in Sukkalmah times in Susa, in the following order:
(1) Girnamme, (2) Tazitta, (3) Ebarti, (4) Tazitta (II), (5) Lu-­[. . .]-uhhan, (6) Kindattu,
(7) Idattu, (8) TanRuhurater, (9) Ebarti (II), (10) Idattu (II), (11) Idattunapir and
(12) Idattutemti (Scheil 1931; Gelb and Kienast 1990: 317–318; see also Roche and
Overlaet 2006: 18–19).
The historical veracity of this king-­list is certain, although the validity of the
sequence’s relative chronology has been much debated (Quintana 1998; Steve et al.
2002: 436–439; Potts 2015: tabs 5.4–5). In any case, the second part of the series
(from Kindattu onwards) is of undoubted reliability, since it is confirmed by original

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inscriptions and Mesopotamian sources, notwithstanding the fact that unlikely alter-
native reconstructions have been suggested (Glassner 1996; De Graef 2006: 52–55,
68), motivated by the presence of Shimashkian rulers, listed in a different order, in the
Geneology of Shilkak-­Inshushinak (Idaddu > Tan-­Ruhuratir > Kindattu).
The earlier part of the series, prior to Kindattu, has been interpreted as a group
of contemporary rulers listed in a fictional temporal sequence (Stolper 1982: 49–54).
The mention of Girnamme/Kirname, Tazitte (I or II) and Ebarti/Yabrat in texts of
Shu-­Sin is the proof of this overlap, but at the same it confirms the historical veracity
of the list, even in Neo-­Sumerian times; it is likely that Ebarti was in a prominent
position and had established some kind of political connection with the other two,
who belonged to the same lineage (Steinkeller 2007: 222; but see 2014: 288–289, for
the hypothesis that the Kirname in the Ur III text was not the same as the founder of
the dynasty).
The most important ruler of the Ur III period was Ebarti (Yabrat), attested since
Shulgi 44. He basically seems to have had good relations with Ur until the reign of
Ibbi-­Sin, when he probably conquered Susa for a very short period before it was
retaken under Ur III’s control, and he began the process of expansion of the Shi-
mashkian state, continued by his son Kindattu (Lambert 1979: 38–44; Steinkeller
2007: 223). The latter carried out the definitive expulsion of Mesopotamians from
Susiana  – notwithstanding Ibbi-­Sin’s attempts to react with political and military
countermoves (year 5 marriage of a daughter with the governor of Zabshali; year 9
military campaign against Huhnur; year 14 military campaign against Susa, Adamtun
and Awan) – and then took the war into Mesopotamia and conquered Ur. The hymn
of Ishbi-­Erra of Isin (2017–1985 BC) recounts that Kindattu, the man of Elam, was
the vanquisher of Ur and that the sovereign of Isin will drive him from Mesopota-
mia (Van Dijk 1978; Potts 2015: 134–135). The king must therefore have reigned at
the same time as Ishbi-­Erra of Isin, as also testified by a text (year 19) referring to
messengers from Kindattu and his successor Idattu (Vallat 1996a; Steinkeller 2007:
221–222).
Kindattu is also mentioned in a cylinder seal impression from Susa of his son
Imazu, who is not included in the royal list (Amiet 1972: no. 1679), and therefore he
might have been a junior ruler/crown prince for Shimashki at Anshan. Since we know
from the literary tradition that Ibbi-­Sin was taken captive to Anshan after the sack of
Ur, probably together with the statue of the tutelary god Nanna which was returned
to Mesopotamia only in the time of Shu-­ilishu, successor of Ishbi-­Erra of Isin, it has
been argued that the Shimashkian core area lay in the region between Khuzistan and
Fars from Kindattu onwards, and that Anshan was in a vassal dependency (Stein-
keller 2007: 224–225).
A Shimashkian policy of inter-­dynastic marriages that continued a long-­lasting
tradition deeply rooted in the ambivalent relations between Mesopotamia and the
eastern countries is attested by a year name of Iddin-­Dagan of Isin referring to an ear-
lier marriage between Mātum-­niattum, his daughter, and a king of Anshan, possibly
Imazu, son of Kindattu (Vallat 1996b).
The sequence of sovereigns after Kindattu is confirmed by a dedicatory inscription
preserved on two bronze vessels of unknown provenance, which identifies Idattu as
son of Kindattu and grandson of Ebarti (II) (Steinkeller 2007: 221–222; 2011), while
Tan-­Ruhurater was the son of Idattu. The affiliation of the latter is indicated in a

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 — The Old Elamite period —

cylinder seal legend (Amiet 1972: no. 1675; De Graef 2011), and building inscrip-
tions from Susa testify that under this king an alliance with Eshnunna (Peyronel
2013: 52–54) was celebrated by marriage with the daughter of Bilalama, Mê-­Kubi
(Malbran-­Labat 1995: no. 5; Potts 2010: no. 11). The latter must thus have had an
important role in Susa, given that the queen’s activities included the building of the
temple of Inanna (together with Tan-­Ruhurater) and that she is also referred to as
‘great lady’ (nin-­gula) in a sealing of one of her servants found in Ville Royale Level
B-VI (Amiet 1972: no. 1676).
The transition period between Ur III and Shimashki is documented at Susa by
stratigraphic sounding B in the Ville Royale. Level B-VII is dated by texts which
span from Shu-­Sin 4 and Ibbi-­Sin 1 pertaining to the administrative archive of the
scribe Igibuni (mostly lists and receipts of prestiti of barley) and originally kept in his
house but then probably dismembered at the time of a rebuilding (De Graef 2005;
2008b). The level ended in a destruction which could be attributed to the conquest of
the town by Shimashki as well to its retaking by Ibbi-­Sin. The following Level B-VI
Early shows a continuity in the occupation without a chronological hiatus and it can
be dated by the presence of the sealing of a servant of Mê-­Kubi, daughter of Tan-­
Ruhuratir, while Level B-V (Early) should be associated with the Sukkalmah period
at the time of Atta-­hushu.
The final part of the Shimashki dynasty overlaps the beginning of the Sukkalmah
period, since its ninth ruler (Ebarti II) was also the ‘founder’ of the new dynastic
lineage. This sovereign appears between Tan-­Ruhuratir and Idaddu II in the Shimash-
kian king list, and the latter is also attested in brick inscriptions from Susa where he
is said to be a son of Tan-­Ruhuratir (Malbran-­Labat 1995: nos. 5–6; Potts 2010: no.
12) and on the cylinder seal of his ‘chancellor’ Kuk-­Simut is titled ‘ensi of Susa’ and
‘son of Tan-­Ruhuratir’ (Lambert 1971: Figure 1). On the other hand, Shilhaha (the
first to be called Sukkalmah according to the inscription of Atta-­hushu) is the ‘chosen
son’ (šak hanik) of Ebarti in the Genealogy of Shilkak-­Inshushinak. Ebarti is also
associated with Shilhaha in an oath formula (De Meyer 1973: 293–294), he is titled
‘lugal’ in a seal legend of Kuk-­Tanra, servant of Shilhaha (Amiet 1972: no. 1685) and
‘lugal of Susa and Anshan’ in an inscription of Atta-­hushu (Scheil 1939: 7). While
the seals of functionaries/servants that mention Ebarti are of Old Elamite style, a
completely different Anshanite seal in chalcedony in the Gulbenkian collection bears
a fragmentary inscription in which the name Ebarti and the title ‘lugal’ of Shimashki
have been read (Lambert 1979: 43–44, Pl. 5; 1992; Steve 1989: 14–18), variously
attributed to Ebarti I or II.
It is certain that Idaddu was ensi of Susa while the first Suhhalmahs were in power
(Vallat 1989), since his chancellor Kuk-­Simut is known from a cuneiform tablet
that lists many individuals who are also named in other texts dating to the time of
the ‘Pala-­ishshan group’ and Atta-­hushu (Vallat 1996a: 302). Moreover, a synchro-
nism between Idattu-napir, who followed Idaddu in the Shimashki royal list, and
Sumuabum of Babylon (1894–1881 BC) is attested by a cylinder seal used both on a
tablet dated to the Babylonian king and on another text mentioning the Shimaskian
ruler (Scheil 1908: nos. 2, 21).
The effective political power wielded by Idattu-napir and Idattu-tempti (the last
rulers of Shimashki) at the time of the early Sukkalmahs is unclear, but it is possible
that they controlled a region traditionally tied to the Shimashki, such as Zabshali, as

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 — L u c a Pe y r o n e l —

may be suggested by Idattu-­napir’s presence in the archive of a merchant at Susa who

traded especially with Zabshali (De Graef 2009).
The rise of the Sukkalmahs thus seems to have been gradual, although it is difficult
to define the various steps (De Graef 2012). It is certainly possible that it was the
result of a shift to a different line within the same extended ruling family, possibly
that controlling Anshan and the Fars region (Stolper 1982: 56). It is also possible that
initially there was a division between Susiana ruled by the early Sukkalmahs and the
nearby highlands ruled by the Shimashki (Vallat 1996a: 315–316). Certainly the con-
federate nature of the Elamite political structure was maintained, with the Sukkals in
charge of regional bodies and the Sukkalmahs as guarantors of the system’s cohesion.
The continuation of Shimashki in the titles (Sukkal of Elam and Shimashki) also con-
served a sign of the hegemony exercised by Shimashki since the early 2nd millennium.
It has been suggested that the final demise of Shimashki power and the definitive
rise of the Sukkalmahs in Elam was caused by the reaction to the military campaigns
of Gungunum of Larsa (1932–1906 BC) against Bashime (year 3), Anshan (year 5)
(Sigrist 1990: 7), and his control over Susa (year 16) (Stolper 1982: 56; Carter and
Stolper 1984: 27), although the aggressive policy of Larsa seems to have been directed
mainly against regions already ruled by the Sukkalmah.
Generally speaking, in correspondence with this schematic historical trajectory
of Elam from the rise of the Shimashki ‘segmentary’ state or confederation and the
beginning of the Sukkalmah control over apparently the same regions, the geogra-
phy of Elamite lands is dependent on the Mesopotamian ‘perception’ of the eastern
peoples with their composite political organization and the information regarding
Mesopotamian relations with them during the Ur III and early Isin-­Larsa periods.
At the time of the Ur III apogee  – when ‘Elamites’ (lú NIM) frequently appear in
messengers’ texts from Lagash and Umma (Michalowski 2008) – a series of different
lands perceived as ‘belonging’ to or affiliated with Shimashki appear to be variously
located in a large area of western Iran along the Zagros mountains (Steinkeller 1982;
2014: 191–195). During the reign of Ibbi-­Sin, Ur progressively lost power on its
eastern border, Susiana fell into the hands of Shimashki and a major cohesion of
the different territories was reached at the time of Kindattu, who also possibly con-
trolled Fars, where Anshan seems to have been subordinated to Shimashkian power
(Quintana 1998). The late rulers of Shimashki titled themselves ensi of Susa (Idaddu
I, Tan-­ruhuratir, Idaddu II), showing the continuity of control in Khuzistan. At the
time of Kindattu the boundaries of ‘Elam’ (or the perception of these limits by the
Mesopotamians) are indicated in the hymn of Ishbi-­Erra as stretching from Bashime/
Pashime to the shore of the sea (the Iranian coast of the Persian Gulf) and the frontier
of Zabshali, and from Arawa, the ‘lock’ of Elam, to the border of Marhashi (Vallat
1991). These indications might be considered merely a ‘mental’ map of the ruler of
Mesopotamia at the beginning of the 2nd millennium, but they do show that the
northern and southern limits were constituted by the Caspian Sea and Persian Gulf,
since Zabshali – understood as Shimashki – extended ‘from Anshan to the Upper Sea’
according to Shu-­Sin (Kutscher 1989: 76). Arawa/Urua, defined as the ‘lock/bolt of
Elam’ might be located between Susa and Mesopotamia (Steinkeller 1982: 244–246),
while Marhashi is a well-­known distant eastern land located in the Kerman region/
Jiroft valley (Steinkeller 2012). The epithet ‘lock/bolt’ is used also for Huhnur in
relation to Anshan. This region probably corresponds to the Ram Hormuz plain,

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 — The Old Elamite period —

since it is mentioned in a brick inscription of Amar-­Sin from a site in the region, pos-
sibly Tol-­e Bormi (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2005), although the Behbehan and Mamasani
regions have also been suggested (Duchene 1986; Petrie et al. 2005: 52).
The historical reconstruction of the vicissitudes of Elam between 2100 and 1950 BC
is certainly only approximate, being deduced from sources that are not always explicit
and in part contradictory, with debate on certain issues, but it seems undeniable that an
independent Elamite power became established at the very end of the 3rd millennium
BC. This was made possible by Shimashkian rulers who succeeded in forging tribal
and territorial links by means of kinship ties, forming an extensive interregional union
(Stolper 1982: 49). The passage to the Sukkalmah dynasty may be seen against the
background of this progressive tendency towards the aggregation of territorial units
through attempts to formalize interlocking hierarchies, although these might have been
unstable and are certainly difficult to understand due to the scarcity of available docu-
mentation, reflected in the new titles of the Sukkalmahs and Sukkals.

The Sukkalmah period (c. 1980/1950–1600 BC)

A comprehensive evaluation of the political history, historical geography and socio-­
political organization of Elam during the Sukkalmah period is hampered by the pau-
city of information in available written sources.
Geographical information on Elam during the Sukkalmah period is almost non-­
existent in Mesopotamian texts and very scarce in the documents from Susa (Vallat
1993a). Data on political organization collected from royal inscriptions, administra-
tive records and seal legends are ambiguous and cannot easily be correlated, so that
the dynastic sequence has been strongly debated.
The period of the Sukkalmah dynasty is distinguished by several important new
developments with respect to the preceding epoch. Above all is the structure of govern-
ment and principal titles of those at the vertices of power, who are identified in inscrip-
tions by the terms Sukkalmah (literally ‘grand regent’), Sukkal + GN (Elam, Shimashki
and Susa), although at the same time a great variety of titles also existed (Vallat 1990).
The term Sukkalmah originated in Mesopotamia, where it first appears during the
Early Dynastic period, and during Ur III it came to indicate a second office after ensi,
at least during the long period in which it was held by Arad-­Nanna, during which he
also became ensi of Girsu-­Lagash and was appointed to numerous positions, includ-
ing that of šagina of Pashime (Iranian coast of the Persian Gulf) (Michalowski 2013).
The Sukkal-­mah of Lagash had effective control of the entire ma-­da, the buffer zone
north and east of the centre (kalam) of the kingdom, and therefore also of Susa
(Steinkeller 1987). The reasons for which the term was chosen for the paramount
ruler in Elam are not altogether clear, but are certainly connected with the fact that
the authority present in Susa during the Neo-­Sumerian period was that of the Sukkal-­
mah. The title could not have been used by the Shimashki dynasties that were active
at the time of the fall of the kingdom of Ur III but first appear in reference to Shil-
haha, who was also the ‘chosen son’ of Ebarti II (Vallat 1990).
Administrative texts and royal inscriptions record about 30 sukkals and sukkal-
mahs, and although it is not possible to establish the length of their reigns, they
may be placed in order and tied in by means of a few synchronisms to the absolute
chronology of Mesopotamia (Tab. 1). However, the frequent occurrence of identical

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 — L u c a Pe y r o n e l —

names shared by different people and the existence of several diverse interpretations
of the sequence have led to different reconstructions.
The sequence of Sukkalmahs initially produced on the basis of lineages attested
in documents from Susa (Scheil 1933: I-III; Cameron 1936: 229; Rutten 1949: 166–
167) was then compared with the Middle-­Elamite text, ‘The Genealogy of Shilhak-­
Inshishinak’, dated to the mid-­13th century BC, which gives the names of previous
sovereigns who had carried out restoration work on the Temple of Inshushinak (Val-
lat 1990: 298–299). In reality, there exist three distinct documents: a stela (König
1965: no. 48) and two pivot-­stones (48a and 48b), related to different buildings
dedicated to the paramount god Inshushinak. Two inscriptions are identical, while
the third (48a) has some differences at the end of the Sukkalmah list (omission of
Atta-­hushu and inverted order for Kuk-­nashur and Temti-­halki).
W. Hinz (1963; 1971) was responsible for the most popular list drawn up prior to
the fundamental work of F. Vallat (1994; 1996a; 2004; 2007; 2009), which has led
to a substantial revision and a new version, from which there are some divergences
(e.g. Steve et al. 2002: tab. 1; Quintana 2010), but which is currently accepted by
most scholars (e.g. Potts 2015: tab. 6.1) (Tab. 1). The principal modification to the
original list involves the movement of the Sukkalmahs of the so-­called Pala-­ishshan

Table 11.1  Most probable sequence of Elamite rulers during the Old Elamite period –
Sukkalmah dynasty (in bold the ruler attested as sukkalmah). S = seal legend; B = brick
inscription; T = cuneiform tablet(s); O = object inscription; G = Genealogy of Shilkak-­
Inshushinak (data after Potts 2015: tab. 6.1; see also Quintana 2010 for references).

Ruler Source Filiation Titles (other than Synchronism

sukkalmah)
Ebarat (II) S, G lugal of Anshan and
Susa
lugal
Shilhaha S, G chosen son of lugal
Ebarti adda-­lugal of Anshan
and Susa
Pala-­ishshan T, S
Kuk-­Kirmash B, T, S, G sister’s son of sukkal of Elam,
Shilhaha ­Shimashki and Susa
Kuk-­Nashur (I) B?, T, S son of Shilhaha
Atta-­hushu B, S, T, G sister’s son of sukkal and ippir of Gungunum of
Shilhaha Susa Larsa 16
shepherd of the (1932–1905 BC)
­people of Susa Sumu-­abum of
shepherd of Babylon 1
Inshushinak (1884 BC)
he who holds the
reins(?) of Susa

218
 — The Old Elamite period —

Ruler Source Filiation Titles (other than Synchronism

sukkalmah)
Tetep-­mada T, S sister’s son of
Shilhaha
Shiruk-­tuh T, S, G sister’s son of Zambiya of Isin
Shilhaha (?)
(1834–1832)
Shamshi-­Addu
of Assyria
(1813–1781 BC)
Siwe-­palar-­ S, T, G sister’s son of sukkal of Susa Hammurapi of
huppak Shiruk-­tuh prince of Elam Babylon
(1792–1750 BC)
Kudu-­zulush I T, S sister’s son of sukkal of Susa Hammurapi of
Shiruk-­tuh Babylon
(1792–1750 BC)
Kutir-­Nahhunte T son of
(I) Shiruk-­tuh
Temti-­Agun B, T, S sister’s son of sukkal of Susa
Shiruk-­tuh
Kutir-­Shilhaha T sukkal
Kuk-­Nashur (II) B?, G, S sister’s son of sukkal of Susa Ammi-­Saduqa
Temti-­Agun sukkal of Elam of Babylon 1
sister’s son of (1645 BC)
Shilhaha
Kudu-­zulush T lugal of Susa
(II)
Kuk-­Nashur B?, S sister’s son of sukkal of Elam
(III) Shilhaha sukkal of Elam,
­Shimashki and Susa
Tan-­Uli S, T, G sister’s son of sukkal
Shilhaha
Temti-­halki B, G sister’s son of sukkal of Elam, Shi-
Shilhaha mashki and Susa
Kuk-­Nashur S, G sister’s son of
(IV) Tan-­Uli

group from the final to the initial period of the dynasty, while current differences of
opinion regard in particular the number of Sukkalmahs who share the same name
of Kuk-­nashur (four according to Quintana 1996 and three according to Steve et al.
2002: 449–452).

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 — L u c a Pe y r o n e l —

The structure of the Elamite realm during the Sukkalmah period is, in any case,
still quite unclear. The hypothesis proposed by G.G. Cameron (1936: 69–88, 229),
that power was exercised by a sort of triumvirate headed by the Sukkalmah, who
resided at Susa, and two sukkals, the Sukkal of Elam and Shimashki, who was nor-
mally the brother of the Sukkalmah, and the Sukkal of Susa, who was the son of
the Sukkalmah, is based on the evidence of multiple titles and relative associations,
but the considerable uncertainties have led to estimates of the number of triumvi-
rates varying from 14 (Cameron 1936) to a maximum of 24 (Börker-­Klähn 1970:
180–215).
The first ‘triumvirate’ is supposed to have been that of Ebarat/Shilhaha/Atta-­hushu
(Scheil 1939: 7–8 no. 4), but it is certain that between Hatta-­hushu and Shilhaha
there existed other Sukkalmahs (Steve et  al. 2002: 444; Vallat 1996a: 299; contra
Glassner 2013). The existence of a mechanism that would have determined the
passage of power from the Sukkalmah to his brother (sukkal of Elam), whose post
would, in turn, have been taken by another brother or the Sukkalmah’s son, follow-
ing a line of descent between brothers that passed only to the son – and thus to the
next ­generation – of the first brother (De Meyer 1982) is not always demonstrable.
It should be noted that our understanding of this system is based solely on records
from Susa, so it is unknown whether similar systems existed in other parts of Elam,
given its undoubtedly confederate nature and centre in Anshan, about which nothing
is known.
Another vigorously debated aspect of Sukkalmah succession concerns the inter-
pretation of the epithet mār aḫāti (Akkadian)/ruhu-­šak (Elamite) + NP, which is often
used to express the degree of kinship between Elamite rulers. It literally means ‘sister’s
son’ and has been interpreted as evidence of the predominance of a line of succession
through the sister of the ruling Sukkal or Sukkalmah (avunculate) (Van Soldt 1990;
Glassner 1994) or of the custom of sibling marriage with one’s sister and/or the
widow of a deceased brother (levirate) (e.g. König 1926; Hinz 1964: 76; Vallat 1994;
1996a: 299–300; Steve et al. 2002: 444–445, 546–553). However, the epithet is also
associated with the name of the Sukkalmah Shilhaha as a kind of royal title adopted
by many Elamite rulers (also by Humban-­ immena and Huteludush-­ Inshushinak
during the Middle Elamite period), clearly excluding any biological ties. In those
cases it seems that it refers to legitimation through kinship with the founder-­ancestor
Shilhaha and thus would mean ‘legitimate descendant’ (Steve et al. 2002: 444).
These are, therefore, two distinct uses of this epithet, one probably connected
with the development of family ties that could determine succession also (but not
only) through lineages different from those traditional in the Mesopotamian world
(between father and son line), and another related to a royal ancestor or dynasty
founder, Shilhaha, who was also the first to be linked with the title.
The system of distribution and transmission of power was probably based on typ-
ical Elamite socio-­juridical traditions, since some aspects of these are found in legal
documents from Susa regarding the management of family assets, although a progres-
sive tendency to adopt Mesopotamian practices is seen in these (hereditary division,
transmission from parent to child, sales and loans as guarantees for land) (Cuq 1931;
Klíma 1963; De Meyer 1961; De Graef 2010). Also, in general political terms the
system had to answer the need to use diverse forms of kinship bonds so as to main-
tain the effective cohesion of an extensive and diversified territory. The two primary

220
 — The Old Elamite period —

centres of Sukkalmah Elam were Susa in Khuzistan and Anshan (Tal-­i Malyan) in
Fars – and these two cities were almost 400 km apart, whereas Liyan on the Persian
Gulf (Pashime) was the principal centre for maritime commercial trading. The land
between Susa and Anshan was occupied by small and middle-­sized settlements, and
a few larger ones (such as Tol-­e Bormi, which might be Huhnur), whereas we do not
know for certain how far it continued northwards, into Luristan and beyond, and
know little of the dynamics of political control towards the east, where Marhashi
no longer seems to have been a sizeable regional entity in the early 2nd millennium
BC. The most precise historical information at our disposal concerns relations with
Mesopotamia, and in particular regards the Elamite influence exercised in the zones
of Hamrin and Diyala and the expansionism of the Sukkalmahs at the time of the
Mari archives.

The early Sukkalmah period (c. 1980/1950–1800 BC)

As we have seen, the beginning of the Sukkalmah dynasty did not correspond to
an abrupt change in the history of Elam, since its first sovereign, Ebarti, appears
to have been the same who is also present as the ninth ruler in the list of Shimaski
kings, although there are diverse interpretations of the passage from one dynasty to
the other, which occurred in about the mid-­20th century BC (Vallat 2004; De Graef
2012). Although Ebarti is referred to as ‘king of Susa and Anshan’ in late Middle
Elamite sources, Shilhaha is the first to be called Sukkalmah (by Atta-­hushu; Vallat
1990: 121) and certainly in Elamite tradition is considered the true ‘founder’ of the
dynasty, given that the epithet ‘sister’s son of Shilhaha’ which is used for many later
sovereigns undoubtedly refers to his special role in the dynasty’s early period. How-
ever, Shilhaha proclaims himself ‘the chosen son of Ebarat’ and must have ruled at
Susa simultaneously with Idaddu II of Shimashki, as testified to by the seals of numer-
ous high officials, which refer to both the kings of Shimashki and the Suhhalmahs
(e.g. Kuk-­simut, Turunkunz, Atta-­puni: Amiet 1972: n 1677; 1973: nos. 41 and 43;
Vallat 1996a: 302–305).
Kuk-­Kirmash, who belonged to the so-­called ‘Pala-­ishshan group’ of Sukkalmahs
that Vallat has shown must be placed in the dynastic series immediately after Shil-
haha and before Atta-­hushu (Vallat 1996a: 301; contra Grillot and Glassner 1991;
1993), was in fact the first to call himself Sukkalmah.
It is in this period that the military action of Gungunum of Larsa (1932–1905
BC) against Elam took place. It is probable that after his victory over Pashime and
Anshan (year 3 and year 5) the king of Larsa succeeded in occupying Susa and it was
probably he who placed Atta-­hushu on the throne (Vallat 1996a: 309–312; Steve
et  al. 2002: 446–447). This ruler in fact has a unique series of titles (‘shepherd of
Inshushinak’ ‘shepherd of the people of Susa’, ‘sukkal and teppir’ and ‘he who holds
the reins? of Susa’). He never used the title of Sukkalmah (although he ruled over
three generations of scribes belonging to the same family), and he is never associated
in administrative documents with another sukkal or sukkalmah. Moreover, he was
the only ruler whose texts were dated according to the Mesopotamian year system.
It therefore seems probable that he was a usurper who came to power with the help
of Gungunum and ruled only over Susa. If this is the case, Khuzistan was in some
way controlled by Larsa during the reign of Atta-­hushu, which was quite long since

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the written texts from Susa give two synchronisms (year 16 of Gungunum = 1916;
year 1 of Sumuabum of Babylon = 1884 BC). From this year there are no correlat-
able textual references until the years in which Sin-­iqisham (1840–1836 BC) reigned
over Larsa, with Susa perhaps still controlled by a probable successor to Atta-­hushu,
Tetep-­mada and maybe other rulers not yet attested in written sources.

The late Sukkalmah period (c. 1800–1600/1550 BC)

A new phase in Elamite politics began at the end of the 19th century BC, under the
Sukkalmah Siruk-­tuh (Vallat 1996a: 313–314), who took firm control of Susa and
may have been the Elamite ally of Zambiya of Isin (1836–1834 BC), defeated by
Sin-­iqisham of Larsa (Sigrist 1990: 29). The king pursued a policy of consolidation
of the lands north of Susiana, together with expansion towards the eastern Meso-
potamian region. This policy may have been favoured by the conquest of Larsa by
Kudur-­mabuk, starting a new Amorite ruling dynasty through his sons Warad-­Sin
and Rim-­Sin. Kudur-­mabuk was son of Shemti-­Shilkah (Henkelman 2010) and both
bore Elamite names and came from Yamutbal in the Trans-­Tigridian region, a tribal
entity that was not hostile to Elam and may even have been a dependency of it.
Since he could count of the non-­belligerence of Larsa, Shiruk-­tuh formed an alli-
ance with Shamshi-­Addu I of Assyria and Eshnunna to the north against the people
of the central and northern Zagros. The king is mentioned in a letter from the archive
of Shemshara (dated to 1785 BC) as Shuruhtuh ‘king of Elam’ and it is explicitly said
that he was able to raise an army of 12,000 to conquer the lands of the Guti ruled
by Indassu (Eidem and Læssøe 2001: 32–33). It is possible that a fragmentary vic-
tory stela of unknown Iranian provenance refers to this particular Elamite military
campaign in the Zagros conducted by Shiruk-­tuh, since the inscription, written in
Elamite, lists several geographical names followed by the phrase ‘I took’ and gives the
name of Indassu (the Gutian ruler) (Farber 1975).
The apogee of Elam was certainly reached during the reign of Shiwe-­palar-­huppak,
curiously mentioned in only a few texts from Susa, but whom we know to have had
an important role on the Mesopotamian chessboard. The Mari archives of the time of
Zimri-­Lim (1780–1758 BC) furnish for this Sukkalmah a most interesting collection of
information regarding both his direct relations with Mari itself and the part he played
in the more general historical events of the period (Lafont 2001). In fact the Mari texts
mention two rulers, Sheplarpak (= Siwe-­palar-­huppak) (referred to as sukkal of Elam
or king of Anshan) and Kutu-­Zulush (probably his brother, referred to as sukkal of
Susa), as well as an unnamed ‘Sukkalmah’ that might have been Siwe-­palar-­huppak
himself (Vallat 1996a: 314–315), although the unlikely suggestion of Siruk-­tuh (father
of Siwe-­palar-­huppak) has also been proposed (Grillot and Glassner 1991: 89, 94).
Direct trade with Susa involving above all the procurement of tin is well doc-
umented for years 7–9 of Zimri-­Lim’s reign, with visits by merchants, diplomatic
messengers and the exchange of precious gifts between the royal courts (Joannés
1991; Michel 1996: 390–391). This trade network clearly substituted the traditional
route through the Diyala-­Hamrin managed by the kingdom of Eshnunna ruled by
the powerful king Ibal-­pi-­El, and might thus have caused a deterioration of the pre-­
existing balance in political relations, resulting in a confrontation between Eshnunna
and Mari-­Elam.

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 — The Old Elamite period —

It has been rightly pointed out that in this period the prestige of the Elamite sov-
ereign was apparently greater than that of the Amorite kings: the Sukkalmah seems
to have had the role of arbitrator in Mesopotamia (between Mari and Babylon and
between Larsa and Eshnunna) and was called ‘father’ by the Mesopotamian kings
who referred to one another as ‘brothers’ (Durand 1994; 2013). The motive for this
presumed ‘superiority’ may have been the tradition connected with the destruction of
Ur, which grew markedly during the Old Babylonian period, together with the per-
ception of Elam as a kingdom covering a huge area, without rivals in Mesopotamia,
and only vaguely defined, in which rich resources of precious materials and metals
were present.
The expansionist policies of Elam in Mesopotamia continued with the conquest of
Eshnunna, thanks to the alliance with Mari and Babylon, which have been correlated
with the destruction attested at administrative centers (Tell Harmal) and strongholds
in the Hamrin (Peyronel 2013: 62). Strengthened by his control of Diyala, the Elamite
sovereign carried out successful military raids in Northern Mesopotamia, occupying
Ekalltum, Razama and Shubat-­Enlil (Charpin 1986), until he was stopped at Hir-
itum by the joint armies of Mari and Babylon. This anti-­Elamite alliance, consid-
ered the result of ‘Amorite nationalism’ in response to Elam’s attempt to impose its
sovereignty in Mesopotamia (Charpin and Durand 1991), is recorded in a text that
reports the oath sworn at the peace treaty (Durand 1986; Charpin 1990). Hammu-
rabi defeated Elam in his 13th year, but Kutu-­Zulush’s successor, Kutir-­Nahhunte I,
who was already an associate to the throne of Shiwe-­palar-­huppak, was still able to
retaliate, attacking Samsu-­iluna of Babylon in the mid-­18th century BC, and Abi-­
eshuh had once more to do battle with Elam (Van Koppen 2013: 377–379).
Apart from an isolated synchronism between Ammi-­Saduqa of Babylon (1646–
1626 BC) and Kuk-­ Nashur (II), the history of the last Sukkalmahs is virtually
unknown, and only the texts from Susa document the dynastic sequence (Steve et al.
2002: 448–451; De Graef 2007).
In any case, due to the large number of homonyms between officials and the num-
ber of princes who could come to power simultaneously, understanding the sequence
of rulers is a complex matter. The main reference point is furnished by documents
that may be attributed to the family of Anih-­Shushim, in which the members of five
generations are associated with nine sukkalmahs, from Kutir-­nahhunte until the last
sukkalmah, Kuk-­Nashur III (or IV, according to Quintana 1996).
Also significant – but of a process found also in Mesopotamia during the Late Old
Babylonian period – is the occurrence of royal interventions that re-­established jus-
tice in the country, strong indicators of an economic crisis and the progressive indebt-
edness of many extended families. One has the impression that a marked reduction
in size and wealth takes place, accompanied perhaps by a political crisis with internal
conflict for the detention of power.
Like the beginning of the dynasty, its end, too, seems to have been marked by a
transitional period, and the rise of the Kidinuids, characterized by the new title of
‘king of Susa and Anshan’, was not an abrupt change (Steve et al. 2002: 452–459;
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010). Ongoing excavations at Haft Tepe will certainly yield an
improved understanding of the passage from the Old Elamite to Middle Elamite
period as well as the nature of relations with the new ‘capital’ of Kabnak and with
Susa, the preceding great centre of Sukkalmah power in Khuzistan.

223
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AB B REVIATIO NS
BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies
JA Journal Asiatique
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society
JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies
MARI Mari, Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires
MDAI Mémoires de Ia Délégation Archéologique en Iran
MDP Mémoires de Ia Délégation en Perse
NABU Nouvelles Assyriologiques Bréves et Utilitaires
RA Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale
RGTC Répertoire Géographique des Textes Cunéiformes
ZA Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und verwandte Gebiete

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 CHAPTER TWELVE

ELAM IN THE MIDDLE ELAMITE

PERIOD

Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi

INTRODU CTIO N
After a long period during which the rulers of Elam named themselves sukkalmah
(grand regent) and claimed sovereignty as the “sukkalmah of Elam and Shimashki”, the
old title “king of Susa and Anshan” re-­emerges in the royal inscriptions around the mid-
dle of the 2nd millennium BC (Vallat 1997). The reintroduction of the term “king” is
realized first with the sign EŠŠANA and written later in Elamite language su-­un-­ki. The
cities of Susa in Khuzestan and Anshan (Tall-­e Malyan) in the province of Fars seem to
be the capitals of the two main Elamite territories, Elam and Shimashki, respectively.
The new royal nomenclature is attested until the reign of Shilhak-­Inshushinak in the
12th century BC, after which ensued several centuries without documented evidence.
The common Middle Elamite periodization is formed by dividing the rulers of this
period into three groups. The first (ME I) includes five rulers: Kidinu, Tan-­Ruhuratir
II, Shalla, Inshushinak-­shar-­ili, and Tepti-­ahar (Steve, Gasche and De Meyer 1980:
92–100). Since Kidinu was generally assumed as the earliest of them, this group
is sometimes alternatively named “Kidinuid”, though neither the chronological
sequence of these rulers is clear, nor were there certain family ties between them. The
second group of rulers (ME II) includes the successors of Igi-­halki and is referred to
also as the dynasty of Igihalkids. The third (ME III) concerns the third group of mon-
archs, known as Shutrukids after their founder Shutruk-­Nahhunte I. The end of the
Middle Elamite period is usually considered to be marked by the fall of Hutelutush-­
Inshushinak, the successor of Shilhak-­Inshushinak ca. 1100 BC.
This historical periodization is not followed by all scholars. For example, Pierre
de Miroschedji (1981) preferred to divide the Middle Elamite period into two phases
based on the stratigraphy of the Ville Royale at Susa. Steve, Gasche and De Meyer
(1980: 91–107) also propose two phases: 1475–1325 (ME I) and 1325–1075 BC
(ME II). Later Steve (1992: 19) divided the Middle Elamite period from a philological
point of view into two phases, further subdividing the second phase into ME IIA and
ME IIB. The following table shows the suggested dating by several scholars.
This chapter gives an overview of the current state of knowledge of the Middle
Elamite period following a three-­phase system (ME I-III), introducing new evidence
to assist in clarification of the dating.
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Table 12.1  Proposed dating systems for the Middle Elamite period

Steve, Gasche Miroschedji Carter and Potts 1999 Steve, Vallat,

and De 1981: Tab. 2 Stolper 1984: and Gasche
Meyer Tab. 4 2002–03:
1980: 91–107 cols. 367–368
Transitional – – 1600–1450 – –
ME I 1475–1325 1500–1300 1450(?)–1330 1500–1400 1450–1400
ME II 1325–1075 1300–1000 1320–1215 1400–1200 1400–1050
ME III – – 1165–1120 1200–1100 –

CHRONO L O G Y
Middle Elamite I
In addition to the rulers Kidinu, Tan-­Ruhuratir II, Shalla, Tepti-­ahar, and Inshushinak-­
shar-­ili, there was another king named Igi-­hatet. This king is only attested in a single
inscription, on a brick from Dehno (Deh-­e-­no), and his name was formerly incorrectly
read as “Igi-­halki” because the last sign was not clearly legible. A complete version of
the text found in the storage of the National Car Museum of Iran was published in
2015 which reveals that the name of the king is not Igi-­halki but Igi-­hatet. Philolog-
ical features, including the use of the sign EŠŠANA and the use of “the king of Susa
and Anshan”, allow for its dating to the Middle Elamite period (Daneshmand and
Abdoli 2015). This discovery brings forth two facts. Firstly, there was a king named
Igi-­hatet who also reigned in the first phase of the Middle Elamite period. Secondly, it
is no longer certain that the Igi-­halki mentioned as father of Pahir-­ishshan and Attar-­
kittah in an inscription of Shilhak-­Inshushinak (EKI 48) – previously identified as the
king in the Dehno brick – was actually a king.
Thus, we can now identify six rulers for the ME I phase: Igi-­hatet, Kidinu, Tan-­
Ruhuratir II, Shalla, Inshushinak-­shar-­ili, and Tepti-­ahar. While Shalla appears with-
out any title (Scheil 1902: 169–194), he is attested in a legal text from Susa in an
oath formula similar to that used for Tepti-­ahar (Scheil 1932: 327), and therefore his
sovereignty over Elam could be expected. Although the exact order of the mentioned
six rulers is uncertain, general opinion places Kidinu and Tan-­Ruhuratir II in the early
stages (Vallat 2000). Since the grammatical features of the newly discovered king Igi-­
hatet’s inscription seem to be closer the sukkalmah period (Daneshmand and Abdoli
2015), it may be assumed that he was the first Middle Elamite ruler.
Presently the main piece of evidence for the chronology of the ME I phase is a date
formula on a tablet from Haft Tappeh, a large site 15 km southeast of Susa, which
mentions “the year when the king expelled Kadashman-­dKUR.GAL” (Herrero 1976:
102). The tablet bears the seal impression of Athibu, who was the grand governor of
the city Kabnak during the reign of Tepti-­ahar. Herrero assumed that Kadashman-­
d
KUR.GAL should have been the Kassite king Kadashman-­Enlil I (ca. 1369–1355
BC). Glassner expresses doubt over the validity of reading dKUR.GAL as Enlil but has
not excluded it (Glassner 1991: 118–120; see also Steve, Gasche and De Meyer 1980:
97–100). Cole and De Meyer (1999) instead assume that dKUR.GAL could have been
233
 — B e h z a d M o f i d i - ­N a s r a b a d i —

in this period an equivalent for the Kassite deity Harbe and the named individual was
Kadashman-­Harbe I (ca. 1400 BC). Their argument was adopted by Vallat (2000) but
rejected by other scholars (Glassner 2000; Goldberg 2004).
Recent radiocarbon dating of samples from building level II at Haft Tappeh stem-
ming from the reign of Tepti-­ahar and Inshushinak-­shar-­ili places them between 1525
and 1435 BC (average values) (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2015), earlier than the reigns of
Kadashman-­Enlil I and Kadashman-­Harbe I. According to this result, the Kadashman-­
d
KUR.GAL mentioned in the tablet during the reign of Tepti-­ahar could have been
a formerly unknown individual. It must be noticed, however, that the results could
point to a displacement between calibrated radiocarbon and historical dates in the
order of 50–100 years and cannot be accepted with certainty.

Middle Elamite II
The ME II phase was previously named after its founder Igi-­halki, but now it has become
clear that the only inscription that was presumed to belong to him actually belongs to
another, earlier king named Igi-­hatet (Daneshmand and Abdoli 2015). Since Igi-­halki is
no longer invoked in any text as the king, the first ruler of the dynasty must have been
his first son Pahir-­ishshan, who was mentioned about two centuries later in an inscrip-
tion from the reign of Shilhak-­Inshushinak (EKI 48). He is further attested together with
his brother Attar-­kittah in an inscription of Shutruk-­nahhunte I (EKI 28A §19).
Based on these texts and other original inscriptions belonging to Attar-­kittah, Humban-­
numena, and Untash-­Napirisha (IRS 21–32; Steve 1967), the genealogy of the rulers in
the ME II phase could be as follows: Pahir-­ishshan, son of Igi-­halki; Attar-­kittah, son
of Igi-­halki; Humban-­numena, son of Attar-­kittah; Untash-­Napirisha, son of Humban-­
numena; Unpahash-­Napirisha, son of Pahir-­ishshan; Kidin-­Hutran, son of Pahir-­ishshan.
This genealogy shows that there must have been two royal lines stemming from Igi-­
halki: the line of Pahir-­ishshan and that of his brother Attar-­kittah (Figure 12.1). Since
the name of Pahir-­ishshan is mentioned first in the inscriptions of Shilhak-­Inshushinak
and also of Shutruk-­Nahhunte I, it is generally assumed that he was the eldest and
reigned first. After these two rulers, the sequence of the kings is not clear. Another text
known as the “Berlin letter”, a Neo-­Babylonian copy of a (pseudo?-)letter, introduces
further confusion. In this text, an Elamite ruler whose name is no longer preserved draws
on his Babylonian maternal line to lay claim to the Babylonian throne (van Dijk 1986).
To underscore his right to the kingship, he alluded to a series of marriages between
Elamite kings and Babylonian princesses, commencing with Pahiranu-­dU who is com-
monly supposed to be Pahir-­ishshan. The marriage connections are described as follows:

Figure 12.1  The genealogy of the Igihalkids according to

the inscription of Shilhak-­Inshushinak.

234
 — Elam in the Middle Elamite period —

“Pahiranu-­ dU [married] . . . of the mighty king Kurigalzu, Humban-­immeni [mar-

ried] his daughter, this one born (him) Hundasha-­Napirisha. Hunda[sha-­Napirisha]
married the daughter of Burnaburiash, this one born (him) Kidin-­[hud]uru[di]sh.
Kidin-­[hudurudish] marr[ied] the daughter of. . .-duniash, this one born (him) Nap[ir-
isha-­h]und[ash]. I, the [daughter’s]-son married the eldest daughter of Melishihu . . .”
Because the text is fragmentary, several parts cannot be understood and a number of
studies seeking to establish the chronology of the individuals have reached different con-
clusions. For example, the following questions are raised: Is the cited Kurigalzu the first
(Steve and Vallat 1989; Potts 1999: 207; Vallat 2006) or the second (Goldberg 2004)?
Did Pahiranu-­dU marry the daughter of Kurigalzu (Goldberg 2004; Vallat 2006) or her
sister (van Dijk 1986)? Was Burnaburiash the well-­known Kassite king (van Dijk 1986;
Vallat 2006) or a prince (Goldberg 2004)? Whom did Kidin-­hudurudish (Kidin-­Hutran)
marry since no Kassite king can be identified as the father of his wife? Is Pahiranu-­dU
with certainty Pahir-­ishshan (van Dijk 1986: 164)? Who was the author of the letter?
Another problem is in regard to the genealogy of the rulers mentioned in the
letter, which differs from the above-­mentioned inscription of Shilhak-­Inshushinak.
The letter indicates Kidin-­Hutran was son of Untash-­Napirisha, while in the inscrip-
tion of Shilhak-­Inshushinak he is the son of Pahir-­ishshan. Furthermore, the rulers
in the Shilhak-­Inshushinak inscription must have been from different family lines.
It is unclear why they are arranged in that manner, as if they all were members of
the same chain of descent and ancestors of the sender of the letter. Goldberg (2004)
suggested that the passage of the letter “Pahiranu-­dU [married]  .  .  . of the mighty
king Kurigalzu, Humban-­immeni [married] his daughter” implies Humban-­numena
(Humban-­immeni) married the daughter of Pahir-­ishshan who was born through the
marriage to the daughter of Kurigalzu. If the suggestion of Goldberg is true, Untash-­
Napirisha and his son and grandson, Kidin-­Hutran and Napirisha-­untash, were not
only offspring of Attar-­kittah but also of Pahir-­ishshan (Figure 12.2).

Figure 12.2  Genealogy of Igihalkid proposed

by Goldberg (2004).

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Concerning the last kings of this phase, Mesopotamian sources offer some infor-
mation. According to Chronicle P, Babylonia was first conquered by Kidin-­Hutran at
the time of Enlil-­nadin-­shumi (1224 BC) and then during the reign of Adad-­shuma-­
iddina (1222–1217) (Glassner 2004, no. 45, iv:14´-22´). It remains unclear whether
this Kidin-­Hutran was the same cited as son of Pahir-­ishshan and the last king in
the inscription of Shilhak-­Inshushinak, or if he was the son of Untash-­Napirisha as
described in the “Berlin letter”. In both cases, he would have lived around the begin-
ning of the 13th century and could not be the person who defeated Adad-­shuma-­
iddina at the end of the 13th century. Because of this discrepancy, some scholars have
suggested that there must have been two or even three rulers of this name and that
the last one conquered Babylonia (Steve and Vallat 1989; Potts 1999: 207, Tab. 7.5;
Vallat 2006).

Middle Elamite III

The synchronism between the Shutrukid kings and Babylonian rulers allow us to
determine the absolute chronology of this last phase of the Middle Elamite period.
The first ruler is Shutruk-­Nahhunte I, who reigned in the 12th century and who had
no direct link to the previous royal house. His presence is documented by several
hundred inscribed bricks from Susa, Dehno, Chogha Pahan West and Liyan, close to
Bushehr, naming him as son of Hallutush-­Inshushinak (Malbran-­Labat 1995: 79–83;
Steve 1987: 20–26, 29). Since his father is not attested as a king, Shutruk-­Nahhunte
must have been the first ruler of the new dynasty. He is well known for his campaign
against Zababa-­shuma-­iddina (1158 BC) and the conquest of Babylonia, from where
he brought booty such as the Naram-­Sin stele and the stele of Hammurabi to his
capital city of Susa (Frame 1995: no. B.2.4.6). His campaign against Babylonia has
led to the assumption that he must have been the Elamite ruler who claimed his right
over the Babylonian throne in the above-­mentioned letter (Steve and Vallat 1989:
228; Potts 1999: 233; 2006; Goldberg 2004). Less likely is the suggestion of van
Dijk (1986: 166) that the sender of the letter was Kutir-­Nahhunte, son of Shurtruk-­
Nahhunte I, since he must have inherited the Babylonian throne from his father as
argued by Potts (1999: 233).
The dominance of Elam over Babylonia persisted during the reign of Shilhak-­
Inshushinak, brother of Kutir-­Nahhunte, who ascended the throne after him. In an
Elamite inscription found near Dezful, Shilhak-­Inshushinak probably describes his
conquest of Sippar and other cities (Ganjavi 1976: 35–36). His successor Hutelutush-­
Inshushinak was the last king of the dynasty, who was defeated by Nabu-­kudurri-­
usur I (1126–1104).

TEXTUAL SO U RCE S
Written sources of the ME I  phase are generally in the Akkadian language. Royal
inscriptions are rare and limited to bricks of Igi-­hatet (Daneshmand and Abdoli
2015), Inshushinak-­shar-­ili (IRS 19), and Tepti-­ahar (IRS 20), describing temple con-
structions at Dehno and Susa. At Haft Tappeh archives of cuneiform tablets were
discovered. One group of these texts originated from a workshop (Negahban 1991:
103–104; 1994) and contains information about deliveries of gold, silver, and other

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materials and some mention the recipient of the products (Herrero 1976; Herrero
and Glassner 1990; 1991; 1993; 1996). Other archives were found in an adminis-
tration building in the south part of the city that was used for storage of valuable
objects (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010b: 19–23), hence the tablets are generally inventory
lists (Prechel 2010). Other finds like letters, school exercises, and omens found in the
1970s show that there is probably a much larger corpus of texts yet to be uncovered
at Haft Tappeh (Negahban 1991: 103–106).
Neither Haft Tappeh nor Susa provide us with legal texts concerning everyday
judicial problems of citizens. Only some exemplars known as the “Malamir texts”
supply information on this topic (Stolper 1990). Interestingly, a large percentage of
the recurrent persons named in this legal archive were women. In 2014, other exam-
ples of the same text type were found at Tappeh Bormi.
In the ME II, a transformation in the use of Elamite language took place, with its
first introduction into royal inscriptions by Humban-­numena (Pézard 1914: 42–65;
Vallat 1984; Malbran-­ Labat 1995: 59–61). His son Untash-­ Napirisha preferred
to compose most of his inscriptions in Elamite and left behind a large number of
inscribed bricks relating to his building activities in different cities, especially in Al-­
Untash-­Napirisha, his new foundation at Chogha Zanbil. There he built a ziqqur-
rat and numerous temples for different deities in the holy area named sian-­kuk, all
incorporating inscribed bricks. Nearly all of these inscribed bricks are attested also
at Susa (published by Scheil in 1901). Since it is very unlikely that Untash-­Napirisha
built a duplicate of the sian-­kuk at Susa, Hinz and Koch have surmised that the
brick inscriptions were transported to Susa from Chogha Zanbil (Hinz and Koch
1987: 1329, UntN; see also Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013b: 62–66). The same phenome-
non might be observed in the inscribed bricks by Humban-­numena also found at Susa
mentioning the restoration of a temple for Napirisha and Kiririsha of Liyan (near
modern Bushehr) (IRS 21).
In the last phase of the Middle Elamite period (ME III), the Shutrukid rulers, who
generally used only the Elamite language for their texts, also left behind a large num-
ber of inscribed bricks. Of particular note is the lack of other text types such as legal
or administrative documents in both this and the previous ME II period. It is unclear
whether this is the result of chance or reflects a reduced utilization of writing in the
social organization and everyday life in these phases.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL E VID E NCE

The vast excavations of Roman Ghirshman at the Ville Royale in Susa provided a
large volume of material from the Middle Elamite period, even if the stratigraphic
relationship of their context is not precise. The earliest Middle Elamite evidence is a
seal impression of the ME I king Kidinu from the Ville Royale A XII. It is therefore
suggested that the end phase of this level as well as the next level A XI, both of which
have yielded a large quantity of pottery vessels, belong to the ME I (Gasche 1973;
Steve, Gasche and De Meyer 1980: 92).
More evidence for ME I  is found at Haft Tappeh, which was excavated first
by E. Negahban from 1965 to 1978 (Negahban 1991) and by the present author
starting from 2005 (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010b; 2012; 2014b). Because several seal
impressions from the site include inscriptions mentioning Athibu as great governor

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of Kabnak (šaknu  GAL ša Kabnak), this is presumed to be the ancient name of the
city. It is difficult to determine Kabnak’s extent, but geomagnetic prospection and
surveys suggest an area of about 200–250 ha (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011a: 1). Negah-
ban’s excavations revealed a building incorporating two tombs and parts of two
complexes with mud brick terraces, which he named “Terrace Complex I  and II”.
Recent geophysical prospection showed that apart from the tomb building there were
at least five monumental complexes (A-E) in this area, separated from each other by
massive walls (Figure 12.3). The two terraces were situated in the southern corners
of the complexes A and D, respectively. A large number of bronze weapons found on
the floor of a room in the western corner of complex (D) indicate probable use of the
room by guards. It seems that this complex was added later to complex C and the
two were connected through a narrow corridor. Another corridor connected complex
D with complex A (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010b; 2012). Excavations by Negahban in
Complex B close to the terrace of complex A uncovered a workshop containing var-
ious finished and semi-­finished products as well as raw materials, indicating that the
workshop’s range of production was varied. A life-­size clay head and a clay mask as
well as objects of bone and ivory were retrieved from the rubble. Negahban (1991:
10) reported remains of the skeleton of an elephant, which could have served as raw
material. A large oven for firing pottery was located in the courtyard in front of the
workshop. Its form would not have allowed its use for bronze production as was
suggested by Negahban (Rafiei-­Alavi 2015: 323–326), though the presence of raw
material, molds, a large variety of bronze objects, and textual records suggest that
Haft Tappeh played a significant role in the manufacturing of bronze articles in the
region (Rafiei-­Alavi 2012; 2015).
The recent excavations in complex C and in the area at its northern side have
yielded information about the stratigraphic sequence of different building levels. Apart
from the Parthian and Sasanian remains, at least four Elamite building levels can be
distinguished. The first (I) belongs to the sukkalmah era, while the other three (II-IV)
stem from the first phase of the Middle Elamite period (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b:
102–106). The urban development at Haft Tappeh reached its climax during building
level II, which based on textual sources seems to belong to the reigns of Inshushinak-­
shar-­ili and Tepti-­ahar (Tab. 2). It is in this level that the monumental complexes were
founded. Their remains in complex C were situated at the same level as the premises
close to the terraces excavated by Negahban. Large quantities of pottery, especially
oval vessels with knob-­foot, as well as vessel stoppers, provide evidence that complex
C was used for the management of foodstuff. Besides the monumental constructions
on the northern side of the site, an administration building with a workroom for
scribes, archives, and long storage rooms was found in the south part of the city.
The tablets were generally inventories listing objects like arrows, quivers, harnesses,
and riding equipment that were stored in the building (Prechel 2010). Burned roof
beams and ash layers on the premises led to the assumption that it was destroyed by
fire. A small structure was situated on the southeastern side of this construction and
in one of its rooms an individual had been buried in a terracotta sarcophagus. Two
cylinder seals amongst the grave goods are of great interest, as their inscriptions name
the proprietor of the seals as Ginadu, the puhu-­teppu (a highly ranked administration
official) of the king Inshushinak-­shar-­ili. Most likely Ginadu worked as an official in
the adjacent administration building (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011b).

238
Figure 12.3  Monumental complexes at Haft Tappeh based on geophysical prospections
(after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b: Figure 1).
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In complex C a thick layer of debris and ashes covered the remains of level II, sep-
arating it from level III. It seems that in level III an attempt was made to rebuild the
complex. Remains of its thick walls can be observed about 80 cm under the surface
on the same level as Negahban’s tomb building, and therefore their contemporaneity
can be assumed. The proposal that the tomb building was constructed as a “funerary
temple” of Tepti-­ahar, based on an inscribed stele fragment found in its courtyard
(Negahban 1991: 102–103; Reiner 1973), is very speculative. There is no justification
for the identification of this construction as a temple (Potts 1999: 196–198), and
it is not certain that the structure stemmed from the reign of Tepti-­ahar, as it must
have belonged to the subsequent building level III. Furthermore, both tombs were
constructed for multiple burials and do not show any characteristics of a royal funer-
ary complex. The stele fragment could have been brought there secondarily, since
another fragment of it was found in the courtyard of complex B (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
2003–2004: 231–232; 2013a: 170).
It is not certain whether the building activity of level III in complex C was com-
pleted, because no paved floor could be determined. Later, in level IV, people reused
the remains of these thick walls and built their houses within them. At this time the
remaining walls of level III could only have been about 50–80 cm high. In order to
obtain the necessary height for the house ceilings, the soil within the walls of level III
was dug out about 120–150 cm.
The end of the building level IV is marked by a tragic event. In a street close to
the houses of complex C were amassed several hundred skeletons behind a wall. In
other excavation areas some skeletons were also observed in the remains of level IV
outside the graves. It is very likely that a massacre took place at this time, putting an
end to the city’s life in the Middle Elamite period (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b: 72–75,
105–106).
Beside architectural remains, a large number of pottery exemplars are attested
in different building levels which provide evidence for an exact chronology of ME
I assemblage. Many terracotta figurines were also discovered, among them a large
quantity of the nude female figures with hands cupping both breasts. Other examples
show clothed females, naked couples on beds, or (more rarely) male figures who
usually play a lute.
It seems that Haft Tappeh lost its influence in the region after the devastation at the
end of the building level IV and was abandoned. Scattered archaeological materials

Table 12.2  Relative chronology of different building levels in excavated

areas at Haft Tappeh

Building Levels Periods Areas

Building Level I Sukkalmah period Structures on the northwestern side of
the tomb building
Building Level II Middle Elamite I Administrative building; Complex A;
Complex B; Complex C; Complex D (?)
Building Level III Middle Elamite I Complex C; Tomb building
Building Level IV Middle Elamite I Complex C

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from the ME II phase are limited to pottery examples and terracotta figurines, which
show certain similarity to those from Chogha Zanbil (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013b:
47–52). In contrast, the new foundation at Chogha Zanbil, situated about 40  km
southeast of Susa, offers the most important textual and archaeological data for the
following Middle Elamite phase. This important site was first excavated by Roland
de Mecquenem in 1935–1939 and later by Roman Ghirshman between 1951 and
1962 (Ghirshman 1966; 1968). Geophysical prospection, surveys, and excavations
were carried out by the author from 1999 to 2005 (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007; 2013b).
The city, named Al-­Untash-­Napirisha (“the city of Untash-­Napirisha”) or later
Dur-­Untash (“the fort of Untash”), was founded in the vicinity of the river Dez
during the reign of Untash-­Napirisha. It lay on a plateau, about 30–40 m higher than
the riverbed. The city was conceived as a sacred center in which different temples
of various Elamite deities were planned. However, the socio-­economic aspects that
played an important role for the development of urban life remained out of consider-
ation. Although the city was founded near the Dez river, it was not possible to use the
river water because of its elevated location. The surmise of Ghirshman regarding the
presence of a 45 km long canal from the Karkheh river to Chogha Zanbil is highly
speculative (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 26–28; 2013b: 308–311). The city lay on the
highest point in the region and it was impossible that water flowed to the city from
the surrounding area.
Since the sacred aspects of this new foundation played the fundamental role in its
implementation, as mentioned explicitly in the brick inscriptions, the most import-
ant building, the ziqqurrat, took the central position in the city. It was dedicated
to the deities Inshushinak and Napirisha and formed the holiest place enclosed by
a wall. On the northwest side of this wall were situated temples for Ishmeqarab,
Kiririsha, and Napirisha (for more architectural details see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi, Chap-
ter 25 in this volume). Other temples built at some distance from the ziqqurrat were
surrounded by a second thick wall forming a holy district, while the whole city area
was delimited by a 4-km-­long outer wall (Figure 12.4). At about 500 m to the east of
the ziqqurrat, Ghirshman excavated remains of two palaces and a funerary building
with five subterranean tombs. Most likely the tombs were planned for the members
of the royal family, but they must have been used secondarily by other individuals,
since the sparse skeletal remains and grave goods do not allow for their classification
as royal burials.
According to geophysical prospections, the residential area of the city was occu-
pied with few constructions (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 46–90). Many houses could be
observed in the holy district within the middle wall. Recent excavations showed that
they do not belong to the period of the city foundation and were built later. Based
on stratigraphic relationships and pottery assemblages, the three following building
levels were determined for these structures (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 90–91):

Building level 3 (12th–11th century BC)

Building level 2 (10th–9th century BC)
Building level 1 (8th–7th century BC)

Urban life in Chogha Zanbil continued at least until the 7th century BC. Fragments
of two glazed bull knobs similar to those from Susa dated to the 8th–7th centuries

241
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Figure 12.4  Plan of the ancient city Al-­Untash-­Napirisha (today’s Chogha Zanbil).

(Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 210) were found recently near the tomb building,
which indicate the continued use of luxury goods into this period.
During the reign of Untash-­Napirisha, the temples were provided with statues and
stelae. Shutruk-­Nahhunte stated in one of his inscriptions that he brought to Susa
several stelae (suhmutuMEŠ) which Untash-­Napirisha had placed in the sian-­kuk, that
is, in Chogha Zanbil (EKI 21). Therefore, it is generally supposed that the statue, as
well as the stele of Untash-­Napirisha found at Susa (Figure 12.5a; Spycket 1981: 307
and Figure 75; Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 127–130, Figure 42), were placed orig-
inally at Chogha Zanbil (Vallat and Grillot 1978: 82, n. 3). Other inscriptions men-
tion further objects transported from Anshan, Dur-­Untash, and Tikni to Susa (EKI
20). Shutruk-­Nahhunte’s passion for collecting monuments in his capital city resulted
in the gathering of a vast number of them at Susa, including many transported by
him from Mesopotamia (Potts 1999: 235, Tab. 7.9). Most of the indigenous Elamite
art of the ME III phase is attested from the reign of Shilhak-­Inshushinak. One of the
most remarkable art objects is a cast bronze model depicting, based on its Elamite

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Figure 12.5  Artworks from the ME II and III phases; a: Stele of Untash-­Napirisha
(after Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 80, Figure 42); b: Brick reliefs of
Shilhak-­Inshushinak from Susa (after Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 11, Figure 13).

inscription, the sit shamshi (“sunrise” in Akkadian) ritual in which two nude male
figures, probably priests, carry out a purification or a libation ritual (Harper, Aruz
and Tallon 1992: 137–141).
A new artistic phenomenon occurred during the reign of Shilhak-­Inshushinak with
the use of brick reliefs similar to those of the Kassite period in Uruk. Several molded
bricks were found at Susa belonging to facade panels showing a male figure together
with a female (Figure 12.5b) as well as a standing bull-­man with a date-­palm and
a standing female figure with hands raised in front of the chest (Harper, Aruz, and
Tallon 1992: 11, 141–144, 281–282). An inscription (IRS 41) runs across the panels
indicating the brick reliefs were part of a chapel for Inshushinak.
From the end of the Middle Elamite period scarce archaeological material is
known. The presence of some inscribed bricks and glazed wall knobs from the reign
of Hutelutush-­Inshushinak at Susa and Tall-­e Malyan (ancient Anshan) give evidence
for this king’s building activities in both major Elamite centers.

SOCIO-­P OLITICAL AS P E CTS

In the course of the Middle Elamite period, Elam became one of the most important
political powers in the region. Its political and economic rise was mirrored by a cer-
tain cultural self-­confidence. The rulers no longer referred to themselves as sukkalmah

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(“grand regent”), but rather as “king of Susa and Anshan”. The usage of the Elamite
language in the royal texts intensified. At the beginning of the Middle Elamite period,
inscriptions were still written in Akkadian, as in the preceding sukkalmah era, but in
the ME II and particularly ME III the rulers favored the use of Elamite. Furthermore,
in these Elamite texts they adopted the title of “the king of Anshan and Susa”, prior-
itizing the name of Anshan (Vallat 1997); in doing so they followed the old tradition
of the Shimashkian rulers from the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC (Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2010a: 111).
The expansion of Elam’s political role in the region also transformed the tradi-
tional power constellation of the preceding period, which was based on a tripartite
system of sukkalmah (ruler of the empire), sukkal of Elam (“regent of Elam”, prob-
ably the title of the viceroy), and sukkal of Susa (probably the governor of Susa)
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2009: 22–37). In contrast, Middle Elamite political supremacy
gives the impression of having been concentrated in the hand of the king alone. In the
formulaic oath in sukkalmah legal tablets, for example, usually the king (sukkalmah),
viceroy (sukkal of Elam), and sometimes even governor of Susa (sukkal of Susa)
are cited, while in the Middle Elamite period “Malamir” tablets only the king was
invoked. Other royal family members are mentioned in inscriptions of ME II and III
but not as political entities.
In the early phase of the Middle Elamite period, different cities were governed
by local authorities who were also named EŠŠANA (“king”). In tablets from Haft
Tappeh, such regional governors are mentioned for Huhnur, Anshan, and Halisrati
during the reign of Tepti-­ahar (Herrero and Glassner 1990: no. 30; 1993: no. 165).
Furthermore, there are other positions like šaknu (“governor”), which was held by
Athibu, the grand mayor of the city Kabnak in the reign of Tepti-­ahar (Herrero 1976:
102–103). However, the ultimate authority of the king can be observed in the use of
his seal in the city organization at Haft Tappeh. Compared to other elite seals, that
of Tepti-­ahar was evidently used more often for administrative purposes, obviously
in order to maintain full control over the government (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011a:
287–288). A  record of large cattle herds during his reign indicates his supervision
over all administration details: “46 oxen of Ishepiltirra, 30 oxen of Tashritu – total:
76 oxen, administrative responsibility of Atta-­Napir which the king investigates and
adds to the royal cumulative record (lit. ‘big tablet of the king’)” (Beckman 1991).
Textual evidence points to a well-­organized administration system controlled by the
king. All deliveries of raw materials and objects seem to have been registered by spe-
cial officials, named puhu-­teppu. One of them was the above-­mentioned Ginadu who
worked during the reign of Inshushinak-­shar-­ili (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011b). Other
puhu-­teppus are cited in a letter together with the concierge and guardians of a tem-
ple who are to deliver a grand chariot (Herrero 1976, no. 8 = H.T. 2).
No indications for the distribution of power can be witnessed with the transi-
tion to the next phases under the so-­called Igihalkid rulers and later the Shutrukids.
Royal family members are cited in inscriptions as an elite group but lack any official
position. Interestingly, it seems that the socio-­political role of female members was
increased progressively during the period. In the ME I phase, the “Malamir texts”
demonstrate already the high influence of women in civil society, their right to own
property, and their participation in court proceedings. In the ME II, Humban-­numena
alluded to being chosen (as king) by god Napirisha due to his maternal line (Pézard

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1914: 42–65; MDP 53 14, no. 4; IRS 21). He repaired the temple and gave it to the
deities Napirisha and Kiririsha for his life and for the life of Mishimruh and Rish-
ap-­La. The two cited female persons could have been his family members, maybe his
mother and his wife. Analogous to this, his son Untash-­Napirisha is presented on a
stele together with two female figures (Figure 12.5a; Harper, Aruz and Tallon 1992:
127–130, no. 80) who can be identified as Napirasu, his spouse, and Utik based on
the inscriptions over their arms (Vallat 1981: 28; EKI 16). Utik was a priestess and is
generally interpreted as Untash-­Napirisha’s mother (Pézard 1916: 122). Napirasu is
also attested by a near life-­size bronze statue, one of the most exceptional discoveries
at Susa, which bears an Elamite inscription over the skirt invoking the deities Napir-
isha, Kiririsha, and Inshushinak (EKI 16; Harper, Aruz and Tallon 1992: 132–135,
no. 83). At the end of the text are cited offerings which were most likely donated to
her statue. This fact underlines her position in religious rituals and can be considered
as a sign of her political and social influence in the royal court.
In the next phase, the citing of the female family members became a permanent
element of Shutrukid royal inscriptions. One of the most important personalities of
this period was Nahhunte-­utu, who is mentioned in inscriptions of Kutir-­Nahhunte,
Shilhak-­Inshushinak, and Hutelutush-­Inshushinak. She was the spouse of Shilhak-­
Inshushinak and mother of Hutelutush-­Inshushinak as well as at least eight other
children. In one inscription, Nahhunte-­utu appears as joint author together with
king Shilhak-­Inshushinak (EKI 40). Many scholars surmise that she was a sister of
Kutir-­Nahhunte and Shilhak-­Inshushinak and was first married to Kutir-­Nahhunte,
because in one inscription Kutir-­Nahhunte offers the reconstruction of a temple at
Liyan for his own life and the lives of Nahhunte-­utu and her children (EKI 31). Fur-
thermore, it is suggested that she was the mate of her father Shutruk-­Nahhunte and
later of her son Hutelutush-­Inshushinak, though this is not well founded (Stolper
1998). Although the exact role of Nahhunte-­utu cannot be clarified, her continued
presence in the royal inscriptions is evidence of her exceptional social and political
position. The above-­mentioned brick relief panel at Susa depicting a royal couple
from the reign of Shilhak-­Inshushinak most probably shows Nahhunte-­utu with
this king (Figure 12.5b). The depiction of female members of Elamite royal families
together with rulers in the arts of ME II and III is in contrast to Mesopotamia and
goes back to a long tradition in the eastern regions of Elam attested in so-­called Shi-
mashkian glyptic from the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
2009: 53–54). This probably arises from the significant social role of women in the
Elamite community and could go back to a matrilineal form of social organization
often proposed for the early era of Elamite history.
Without doubt, the intensive building activities and military and political expansion
observed in the Middle Elamite period were connected to Elam’s economic develop-
ment. The socio-­political development in this time caused an increasing request for
pottery vessels, especially of the so-­called “Knopfbecher” that was most likely used for
beverage rations, probably beer, of building workers. Improvements in serial produc-
tion resulted in lower-­quality products and a trend towards a simplified shape (Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2014a). The vast building undertakings required changes in the production
of manufactured articles in order to optimize the balance of supply and demand.
Undoubtedly the building and military activities can be considered as royal under-
takings carried out through centralized power. Textual sources do not allow for the

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illumination of the quotidian in the Middle Elamite era. In the absence of private
documents like those available for the sukkalmah era, the social and economic nature
of everyday urban life remains to be charted.

AB B REVIATIO NS
EKI Royal inscriptions in Elamite published in König 1965.
IRS Royal inscriptions in Elamite and Akkadian from Susa (and Chogha Zan-
bil) published in Malbran-­Labat 1995.
MDP 53 Elamite and Achaemenid royal inscriptions from Susa and Susiana pub-
lished in Steve 1987.

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 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE LAST CENTURIES OF ELAM

The Neo-­E lamite period

Elynn Gorris and Yasmina Wicks

INTRODU CTIO N
Spanning the centuries from the fall of the powerful Middle Elamite Šutrukid dynasty
(c. 1100 BCE) to the rise of the Achaemenid Persian empire (520 BCE) was the Neo-­
Elamite period, a time of rapid development in southwest Iran characterized by an
increasing cultural diversity and political vitality. During this time, Elam is thought
to have roughly encompassed today’s provinces of Khuzistan and Fars, remaining as
it had been throughout its history a dual highland-­lowland cultural entity (Álvarez-­
Mon 2010: 4–5). Yet our picture of this unique personality remains rather unbal-
anced because surveys and excavations have focussed largely on the lowland areas,
leaving the highland territories relatively unknown.
This overview of Elam in the first half of the 1st millennium commences with a
review of Neo-­Elamite periodisation and a presentation of the still much-­debated
dynastic sequences. It will then introduce the reader to the various sites that have
produced material evidence for this period of southwestern Iran’s history and finish
with a brief commentary on Neo-­Elamite society.

NEO-­E LAMITE P E RIO D IS ATIO N

Scholars have yet to reach a general agreement on a suitable chronology for the
Neo-­Elamite period, and consequently there are several possible subdivisions based
on archaeological, historical or philological material (Table 13.1). From the material
evidence at Susa, Pierre de Miroschedji (1981b) determined two Neo-­Elamite phases:
NE I (1000–725/700 BCE) and NE II (725/700–520 BCE). Using historical data
from textual sources, various other scholars have instead defined a tripartite divi-
sion: NE I (c. 1100/1000–1760/743 BCE), NE II (760/743–653/646 BCE) and NE
III (653/646–539/520 BCE). Based on internal linguistics Marie-­Joseph Steve (1992:
21–23) established a relative chronology for the late NE III texts and further divided
the late NE III period in two sub-­phases, A (653–605) and B (605–539). The ques-
tion of whether the Neo-­Elamite period should be concluded at 539 with Cyrus II’s
ascent to power or with the suppression of the last Elamite revolts during 522–520

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Table 13.1  Various periodizations proposed for the Neo-­Elamite period

de Steve Vallat Waters Malbran-­ Gorris Potts

Miroschedji (1992: (1996) (2000: 3) Labat (2014: (2016:
(1981b) 21–22) (2012) 34–36) 249–50)
NE I A 1000– 1000–900 1100–770 1000–743 1000–760 1100–760 1000–744
NE I B 725/700 900–750
NE II 725/ 750–653 770–646 743–646 760–653 760–646 743–646
NE III A 700–520 653–605 646–585 646–539 653–539 646–520 646–539
NE III B 605–539 585–539

by Darius I, as commemorated in his Bisitun inscription, remains open to debate, but

in the absence of material evidence for Persian rule at Susa before the latter’s reign, it
is likely that some part of Elam, including Susa, was retained by Elamite rulers until
c. 520 (Henkelman 2003b: 262).

NEO-­E LAMITE ROYAL DYNAS TIE S

Two main groups of textual sources, one Mesopotamian and the other Elamite, and
also some biblical references (Daniel 8:2; Jeremiah 49:34–39) provide information
on Neo-­Elamite history. With only a dozen kings attested in indigenous sources over
500  years, scholars have relied heavily on Mesopotamian documentation for their
historical reconstructions. Yet these external sources  – the Babylonian chronicles
(ABC), the Neo-­Assyrian royal inscriptions (BIWA, RIMA, RINAP) and the Assyrian
state correspondence (ABL; SAA; de Vaan 1995)  – must be studied critically. The
internal corpus comprises royal monumental inscriptions (EKI 71–73; EKI 77–89;
IRS 57–62), inscriptions of Elamite officials (EKI 74–76; Basello 2013), adminis-
trative and legal texts (MDP 9; MDP 11 301–309; Weissbach 1902), omens (Scheil
1917: 24) and inscribed seals (Amiet 1973) and other objects (Henkelman 2003a;
Álvarez-­Mon 2010). Since they do not provide a consistent chronological frame-
work, scholars can only establish a relative chronology for these sources based on
linguistic and paleographical criteria.

The dark ages (c. 1100–760 BCE)

After the late Middle Elamite king Hutelutuš-­Inšušinak (c. 1120–1100) was defeated
by Babylonian Nebuchadnezzar I  at Ulāia River (RIMA 2 35:41–43), historical
information on Elam is scant for over 300 years. Nevertheless, a group of Elamite
economic texts from Tal-­e Malyan that may date to the early Neo-­Elamite period
(Stolper 1984: 7) and occasional Mesopotamian references suggest these Elamite
“Dark Ages” are not so dark as they initially seem. The Dynastic Chronicle (984–979
BC; ABC 18:13; RIMA 2 87–89) describes a Babylonian king Mār-­bīti-­apla-­uṣur
as a remote descendant of Elam, and we learn that in 814 an Elamite garrison deliv-
ered military support to the Babylonian king Marduk-­balāssu-­iqbi (818–813) against

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 — The last centuries of Elam —

Assyrian Šamši-­Adad V (823–811) in the battle of Dur-­Papsukkal (RIMA 3 A.0.103iv

38). After an Assyrian victory, it is reported that the people of Der, Parsumaš and
Bit-­Bunakki abandoned their cities and sought shelter in Elam (SAA 3 41). In the
subsequent decades, a document dated to the reign of Assyrian king Adad-­nirari III
(811–783) mentions an Elamite ambassador at the Nimrud court and wine rations
for Elamite court employees (Dalley and Postgate 1984: 145 iv 13, iv 26). Taken
together, these references intimate a royal authority in Elam from the late 9th century
onwards.

The first Neo-­Elamite dynasty (c. 760–689 BCE)

Fifty years after the battle of Dur-­Papsukkal, a Chronicle (CM 52, iii 7, 21) describes
the transfer of inhabitants, women and/or precious gems to Elam on two different
occasions by the Babylonian king Nabû-­šuma-­iškun (760–748). Although the name
of an Elamite king is not mentioned, these lavish gifts indicate that Elam was already
of great importance to Babylonia before the reign of Huban-­nikaš I (743–717), the
earliest Neo-­Elamite king named in the Babylonian Chronicle (ABC 1 9–10), and
that the first Neo-­Elamite dynasty must have commenced before his accession (Hen-
kelman 2003b: 253). Assurbanipal’s Annals (BIWA 54 F v 34–39) present Huban-­
nikaš I as the son of Huban-­tahra; perhaps he was the Elamite regent who initially
sought rapprochement with the Babylonians, resulting in an alliance a generation
later between Huban-­nikaš I and Merodach-­baladan II against Assyria in the battle
of Der in 720.
The Babylonian Chronicle provides a sequence of kings from Huban-­nikaš I  to
the accession of Urtak (675–664). The first king, Huban-­nikaš I, was succeeded by
his nephew or mar aḫatišu, Šutruk-­Nahhunte II (717–699) (ABC 1, i 38–40). In the
titulary of a text written on a Neo-­Elamite foundation stone (EKI 72), an alabaster
monumental horn (EKI 71), a stele (EKI 73) and a glazed wall figurine (Amiet 1967:
36–37), Šutruk-­Nahhunte identifies himself as the son of Huban-­immena who, being
omitted from the Babylonian Chronicle’s dynastic sequence and the Annals of Assur-
banipal (BIWA 54 F v 34–39, 241), seems to have been an Elamite nobleman who
had married the king’s sister (Gorris 2014: 46–53) and never ascended the throne
himself (contra Vallat 1996: 389–340; Waters 2000: 16–18, 25–27).
In the Babylonian Chronicle (ABC 1, ii 32–4), Šutruk-­Nahhunte II is succeeded by
his younger brother “Hallušu” or Hallutuš-­Inšušinak I (699–693), who ruled Elam
for six years. Yet these regnal years and descent  – Huban-­immena should be his
father  – do not correspond to the 15 Elamite bricks (EKI 77; IRS 58) on which
Hallutuš-­Inšušinak nominates himself son of Huban-­tahra or to a Babylonian adop-
tion contract dating to his 15th regnal year (Weisberg 2003: 1; Tavernier 2014). Pale-
ography and linguistic analyses, in fact, date the brick inscriptions to the Neo-­Elamite
III (Vallat 1996: 390, 393), making Hallutuš-­Inšušinak, son of Huban-­tahra, nearly a
century younger than the Hallušu of the Babylonian Chronicle. Since there must have
been two Neo-­Elamite kings with the name Hallutuš-­Inšušinak (Tavernier 2014), the
legal text can now be attributed to the early 6th century reign of Hallutuš-­Inšušinak
II. After Hallutuš-­Inšušinak I, the Annals of Sennacherib (705–681) (RINAP 3.1, 22 v
14–16) assign the Elamite throne successively to his sons Kutur-­Nahhunte (693–692)
and Huban-­menanu (692–688), the latter ascending the throne after his brother was

251
 — E l y n n G o r r i s a n d Ya s m i n a W i c k s —

taken prisoner in a rebellion and killed (ABC 1, iii 13’-14’). In 691 under his com-
mand, a coalition of Elamite and Babylonian military forces fought the battle of
Halule against the Assyrians.
Vallat (apud Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2002/2003: 470–471) collected the kings
from Huban-­nikaš I to Tammaritu together under a single dynastic name: the Huba-
nids. Since the textual sources are silent on the kinship between Huban-­menanu and
his successor Huban-­haltaš I, however, their family ties cannot be proven (Gorris
2014: 73–79; contra Waters 2006: 499). Furthermore, on the relevant Babylonian
Chronicle tablet (ABC 1, iii 27–31) a line indicating a new chapter marks a clear dis-
tinction between the two kings, suggesting that after a decennium of court intrigues
it was Huban-­haltaš I who founded the Hubanid dynasty.

The second Neo-­Elamite dynasty: the Hubanids

Very little is known about the first two Hubanid kings except for their regnal years
which are reported in the Mesopotamian sources. Huban-­haltaš I (688–681) remained
in power for eight years before dying from a stroke. Although the crucial passage
in the Babylonian Chronicle is damaged (ABC 1, iii 30’–33’), he and his successor
Huban-­haltaš II (681–675) were most likely related to each other in a lineage of first
degree. If the missing sign in the text is to be read as the logogram dumu ‘son’ (CM,
183; Gorris 2014: 74–76; contra Waters 2006: 499), then Huban-­haltaš I had at least
three sons: Huban-­haltaš II, Urtak and Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak. During Huban-­haltaš
II’s reign, Babylonia would become an unstable factor in the Assyrian Empire due to
his ongoing involvement in the Sealand region, his attack on Sippar in 675 and his
support to southern Mesopotamian tribes. In combination, the Babylonian problems
inflicted by the Elamites and the sudden unexpected death of Huban-­haltaš II (ABC
1, iv 11’; ABC 14, 16–17) may have prompted Esarhaddon to convince Urtak to
commit a coup d’état against his own nephews Kutur-­Nahhunte (Kudurru) and Paru,
the two sons of Huban-­haltaš II (BIWA 97b iv 81).
For a few years after the accession of the Assyrian king Assurbanipal (669–627),
Urtak (675–664) would uphold a pro-­Assyrian policy (ABC 1, iv 17–18; RINAP 4,
1 v 26–33a; Frame 1992: 83 n. 99). But in 664, presumably under influence of Elamite
court officials, including his younger brother Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak, he conducted

Figure 13.1  The First Neo-­Elamite Dynasty.

252
 — The last centuries of Elam —

an invasion of Babylonia, only to be forced into retreat by the Assyrian army. Even
though his eldest son Huban-­nikaš was actively involved in foreign Elamite politics,
after Urtak’s death the same year Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak I (664–653) ascended the
throne (SAA 10, 341).
With Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak I, an anti-­Assyrian faction came into power. The
Elamite king Teumman who now enters the Assyrian sources was previously con-
nected by scholars to the Elamite inscriptions of a Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak (EKI 79–85;
IRS 59–62), but François Vallat (1996: 393) and Jan Tavernier (2004: 33–39) have
persuasively argued on linguistic and orthographic grounds that these inscriptions
should be dated to the Neo-­Elamite III period. Hence, the Teumman of the Assyrian
sources will hereafter be designated as Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak I and the later Elamite
king as Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak II. During the battle of Til-­Tuba in 653 Tepti-­Huban-­
Inšušinak I and his eldest son Tammaritu were taken captive and decapitated (BIWA
300). Amongst the Elamite captives of Til-­Tuba, there is possibly a first reference to
Šutruk/Šutur-­Nahhunte (Ištarnandi), the king of Hidalu (*-653), which is generally
assumed to be the highland capital of the Neo-­Elamite kingdom (BIWA B vi 49–51;
BIWA 306). Although there is no conclusive evidence that Šutruk/Šutur-­Nahhunte
was a member of the extended Hubanid family (Fuchs 2003: 135), we might assume
that he was a ruler from the same generation as the brotherhood of Huban-­haltaš II,
Urtak and Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak I. The nature of the kingship of Hidalu remains a
subject of scholarly debate; it is difficult to say whether it should be understood as a
governorship (Henkelman 2003b: 254–255; 2008: 12–13; Fuchs 2003: 135), a semi-­
autonomous political status (Potts 2010: 123) or an independent kingdom (BIWA F
iv 57–58).
Following the battle of Til-­Tuba, Assurbanipal installed the sibling kings Huban-­
nikaš II (653–652/1) and Tammaritu (653-*), sons of Urtak, on the thrones of Elam
and Hidalu, respectively (BIWA B vi 85–86). It was probably the Assyrian succession
model that he imposed on these Elamite client kings (SAA 3, 31; contra Waters 2000:
56; Henkelman 2012: 432) who had been sheltering in his court against the wrath of
their uncle Teumman for the ten years prior (Potts 2016: 269–270). Huban-­nikaš II,
however, quickly turned against Assyria, providing military support to Assurbanipal’s
rebellious brother Šamaš-­šum-­ukin in the battle of Mangisu (652/1) (BIWA F iii 6–9,
C vii 128–129). The alliance was defeated.
The anti-­Assyrian Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak I branch now regained power with Tam-
maritu (652/1–650), not to be confused with the ruler of Hidalu (BIWA A  iv 1–2;
Frame 1992: 183). This Tammaritu’s father, Huban-­haltaš, was a son of Tepti-­Huban-­
Inšušinak I (BIWA F iii 21–26; B vii 58–63) and had lived with his family in exile in the
Elamite frontier fortress Bit-­Imbi (BIWA F iii 57–61) (for a discussion on Tammaritu’s
descent, see Gorris 2014: 92–99). Tammaritu was soon dethroned after an internal
revolt (BIWA A vi 11; F iii 19–20) and escaped with the royal family to Assyria where
he was granted asylum by Assurbanipal (BIWA 315; de Vaan 1995: 252).

The Elamite rebel kings (650–645 BCE)

During the five years following the reign of Tammaritu, Elamite internal politics esca-
lated in a struggle for power between pro-­and anti-­Assyrian political and military
factions. Assurbanipal took advantage of the internal impasse to strengthen his own

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Figure 13.2  The Hubanid dynasty.

influence in Elam. Indapipi (650/649–648), a servant of Tammaritu (BIWA 42, 110),

came into power after a coup d’état (BIWA B vii 54–78). But his refusal to extradite
Nabu-­bel-­šumati, the rebellious prince of Sealand, caused Indapipi’s pro-­Assyrian
policy (Waters 2000: 66) and his reign to come to an end (BIWA C ix 83).
The reign of Huban-­haltaš III (648–645), a member of the Elamite military
elite (Waters 2000: 69), was repeatedly interrupted by internal Elamite uprisings
and Assyrian military campaigns against Elam. When he abandoned his capital,
Madaktu, in the face of the approaching Assyrian army, Huban-­habua (647), the
local ruler of Pupilu, temporarily seized power in the Susiana region (Waters 2000:
71; contra Fuchs 2003: 133). Soon afterwards, however, the Assyrian army rein-
stalled the Hubanid Tammaritu (647), who had received asylum in Assyria after
his dethronement, as king of Elam (BIWA A v 21–22). After Tammaritu’s rebellion
against his Assyrian overlord (BIWA F iii 72–74; ABL 1311+), Huban-­haltaš III,
who had been hiding in his mountain stronghold, reclaimed the throne. His sec-
ond tenure of office was overshadowed by the second Assyrian military campaign
(BIWA F iv 17–18), which led to the battle at Dur-­Untaš (BIWA F iv 29–66) and the
sack of Susa in 646.
After the sack of Susa, another short-­lived Elamite ruler named Pa’e arose (BIWA
A vii 51–57), but shortly thereafter Huban-­haltaš III recaptured the Elamite throne
(BIWA A vii 9–15) for a third tenure (646–645). His continued rejection of Assur-
banipal’s demands to give up Nabu-­bel-­šumati (BIWA A x 6–7) induced one of his
servants, perhaps the local ruler Huban-­nikaš, son of Amedirra (de Vaan 1995: 240–
241; contra Waters 2000: 73), to start a rebellion against him and he was taken
alive by Assurbanipal in his mountain stronghold, Murubisi (BIWA A x 8–16). After
his capture Elam was left destabilized but certainly not desolated as the Assyrians
claimed. In any case, Mesopotamian sources now fall silent on Neo-­Elamite royal
power.

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The Elamite kings after the sack of Susa (645–520 BCE)

While the Mesopotamian sources for the NE II period focused mainly on the royal
authority of the Elamite kings in Susa (and Madaktu), the Elamite sources available
for the NE III period give a better insight into Elamite state structure and royal power.
In contrast to the Mesopotamian sources which present the Neo-­Elamite kingdom as
a centralized entity comparable with the Neo-­Assyrian state structure (Waters 2000:
107; Fuchs 2003: 129), the late Neo-­Elamite texts reveal a strong network of local
rulers, especially in the border regions, who were bound by loyalty to the king of
Anshan and Susa. This decentralized government does not signal the fragmentation
of a once-­unified Neo-­Elamite kingdom (Henkelman 2008: 12–17) but rather rep-
resents an efficient system to bind together the various regions (highland-­lowland)
and tribal entities (Gorris 2014: 302–314).

The late Elamite kings at Susa

The oldest Elamite inscriptions of the NE III period – the Kul-­e Farah I rock relief
inscription (EKI 75) of Hanne, kutur of Ayapir, a cornelian bead (Vallat 2011), a gold
“ring” from a tomb near Ram Hormuz (discussed below) and the so-­called Jerusalem
cylinder seal (Amiet 1973: n. 34)  – are attributed to the reign of Šutur-­Nahhunte.
Tavernier (2004: 20–21) connected Šutur-­Nahhunte to the Jerusalem seal, making
him the son of Indada and father of Huban-­kitin. If Indada had been a king, then
Tavernier’s proposed regnal date for Šutur-­Nahhunte between 635 and 610 would
be highly plausible, and Indada could bridge the gap with the last Neo-­Elamite king,
Huban-­haltaš III, found in the Assyrian sources. As a consequence, Šutur-­Nahhunte
was probably the Elamite king who received the Elamite cult statues from Uruk
returned by Nabopolassar II in 626 (ABC 2).
The second Hallutuš-­Inšušinak (c. 598/93–583/78) must have brought consider-
able stability to the Elamite kingdom. The Babylonian adoption contract dated to
the 15th year of his lengthy reign (Weisberg 2003: 1; Tavernier 2014) was proba-
bly written around 589–578, given its archaeological context and its relation to the
Iqiša archive, meaning that the beginning of his reign aligns with the early Iqiša con-
tracts dated between 598 and 593 (Gorris 2014: 136–142). Vallat (1996: 290, 393;
2002) and Tavernier (2004: 39) appropriately attributed a late NE IIIB date to the 15
Elamite inscribed bricks (EKI 77; IRS 58) and the wall knob (MDP 53 50–51 Pl. 9:6)
of Hallutuš-­Inšušinak II, since he must have ruled for several years before concluding
his restoration works on the Inšušinak temple.
The Ururu bronze plaque, a charter ordered in service of king Huban-­Šuturuk, son
of Šati-­hupiti, the paramount ruler of Elam at Susa (Basello 2013: 258; contra Henkel-
man 2003b: 258; 2008: 315), dates to the early 6th century according to the glyptic
style of its engraved pseudo-­sealing (Amiet 1973: 10–11, n. 28). If Huban-­Šuturuk was
the paramount ruler granting privileges to the principal person in the plaque’s text,
Ururu, and the other Gisatians, then Ururu must have been the local ruler of Gisat, an
important cultic centre in the Elamite highlands (Henkelman 2008: 314–315, n. 729).
King Atta-­hamiti-­Inšušinak, son of Hutran-­Tepti, not to be confused with Attametu
of the Assyrian sources (Stolper 1992a: 199), can be dated to the first half of the 6th
century based on the orthographic and paleographic features of an inscribed stele he

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left behind at Susa (EKI 86–89). This regent adopts the traditional Middle Elamite
title “King of Anshan and Susa” and refers to his military deeds against two cities
Šamaršušu and Pessitme (EKI 86:12, 15). Gisat and Huhnur, two highland locations
in the vicinity of the Elamite stronghold Hidalu, are also prominent in the text (EKI
88:4). Since these military campaigns were intended to (re)gain the loyalty of the
highland lords, one could assume that his reign predates the Teispid dynasty, that is,
2nd quarter 6th century, excluding an identification with the late Elamite rebel king
Aθamaita (Gorris 2014: 154–155; contra Waters 2000: 85; Tavernier 2004: 24–30).
The activities of Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak II, son of Šilhak-­Inšušinak, are known
to us through several inscribed bricks (EKI 80–84; IRS 59–62) and steles (EKI 79;
EKI 85): he built a wooden portico (EKI 79) on the Inšušinak temple (EKI 82–84;
IRS 59–62), constructed the Pinigir temple, held a cultic feast in the groves (EKI 85)
and conducted military campaigns against the Balahute and Lallari people (EKI 80;
IRS 62) in southern Luristan (Vallat 1993: 33). Within a relative dating of the late
Neo-­Elamite royal inscriptions, these texts should be clustered with the Atta-­hamiti-­
Inshushinak stele. Vallat (1996: 391–394) and Tavernier (2004: 27, 39) placed the
reign of Tepti-­Huban-­Inšušinak II around 550–530, which would make him a vassal
king of the Teispid king Cyrus II the Great.
The listing of three Elamite revolts (522–520) in Darius I’s Bisitun inscription
suggests that Elam, or at least the Elamite lowland, was not yet under complete
Achaemenid domination before his reign (Henkelman 2003b: 262). After the high-
land revolt of Haššina (DBe, p I:16) and Martiya (DB II.23) the Elamite Atta-­hamiti-­
Inšušinak (Aϑamaita in Old Persian), who probably assumed the royal name of the
last great Neo-­Elamite king Atta-­hamiti-­Inšušinak to enforce his claim on the Elamite
crown, marched against Darius (DBp v: 71). Upon his defeat Elam was incorporated
into the Achaemenid Empire.

Local rulers of the Neo-­Elamite period

The above-­mentioned rulers of Ayapir, Gisat and Hidalu attest to a decentralized
government system for the Elamite highlands. For the political situation in the low-
lands, abundant information is provided by the Susa Acropole archive, which docu-
ments a Susa-­based administrative network managing various goods (tools, weapons
and textiles) for a short period in the late 7th to early 6th century (MDP 9; Basello
and Giovinazzo Chapter 24 this volume). Vallat’s (1996: 389, 393) hypothesis that
sunki (Elamite “king”) Ummanunu was paramount ruler of Elam during the era of
these texts is rather doubtful, because the particular text (MDP 9 165) in which he
appears is related to the Zari people (MDP 9 158; MDP 11 305), has a Babylonian
character (Basello 2011: 74–75) and has no geographical reference to Susa (Gorris
2014: 131). Ummanunu was therefore presumably a local ruler under the authority
of Hallutuš-­Inšušinak or the Elamite king predating his reign (Gorris 2014: 128–
132). If Vallat’s (1996: 389, 393; contra EKI, 169 n. 15) identification of Ummanunu,
Šilhak-­Inšušinak’s father, with the Ummanunu of the Acropole texts (i.e. end of the
7th century; MDP 9 165) is accepted, then Šilhak-­Inšušinak must also have been a
local king (Gorris 2014: 134–135). His votive inscription on a door socket (EKI 78)
to dil.bat, a goddess venerated at the outskirts of the Neo-­Elamite kingdom rather
than in Susa, seems to prove this hypothesis.

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The administrators of the Acropole archive referred to numerous kings, indicated

with the logogram eššana/lugál “king”, in the Susiana region close to the Meso-
potamian border (Potts 2010: 115). Neo-­Assyrian letters indicating the position of
these Elamite borderland rulers do not use the logogram eššana/lugál, but refer to
the “land of the sheikhs” (de Vaan 1995: 311–317) or “sheikhs of the king of Elam”
(SAA 17 154). Since several sheikhs of the Zari people with Semitic names (Appalaya,
Nabu-­naṣir, Marduk) are mentioned in the Acropole texts (MDP 9 80, 82, 178), we
can assume that this tribal group incorporated in the Susa administrative system, pos-
sibly of Aramean origin (Henkelman 2003a: 213 n. 114; 2003b: 257), was dwelling
in the Elamite-­Babylonian border region.
Rulers of the Samatian people with mixed Elamite-­Iranian anthroponyms were also
attested in the Acropole texts (Gorris 2014: 193). Since inscriptions on objects among
the “Kalmakarra hoard” reported to have come from a cave in southern Luristan
refer to several Samatian sunkis, we can locate this tribal group in the Zagros foot-
hills at the northern outskirts of the Elamite kingdom (but note the problems with
some of the material attributed to this hoard in Henkelman 2003a).
Living in one of the lowland districts from the reign of Šutruk-­Nahhunte II were
the people of Zamin (EKI 74), an Elamite region (Nin 5) most likely located in the
Tupliaš area near the Babylonian border (SAA 17 152:5; Gorris 2017: n. 6). The ruler
of Zamin (Nin 1; 10; 14; Gorris 2013; MDP 9 88) was a sheikh Bahuri (Nin 25:5,
11; MDP 9 281; Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2002/2003: 481) who commissioned the
Elamite Nineveh letters (c. 630–620). In one letter (Nin 13:1–5), Bahuri forwards
messages of the sheikh of Hara(n), probably an Elamite fortress in the Araši region
connected by road to Zamin and Susa (Gorris 2017).

NEO-­E LAMITE MAT E RIAL RE M AINS

A brief journey around the archaeological vestiges of the Neo-­Elamite world now
takes us from the lowland plain of Deh Luran onto the large tell of Susa in Susiana
and then into the Zagros foothills and onto Malyan in the more isolated highlands to
the east (locations indicated in Figure 13.3). Ceramics with Neo-­Elamite comparisons
have also been found around Tol-­e Peytul (ancient Liyan) on the marshy coast to
the southwest near Bushehr where a second-­millennium Elamite presence is already
recognised (Carter et al. 2006: 89–94; Potts 2016: 15), but these finds and their sig-
nificance require further study. With the exception of the few inscribed objects noted
above, it is almost impossible to match the people and events found in textual sources
with the material evidence from the various sites with attested Neo-­Elamite presence,
or even to locate the mentioned toponyms on the ground. The discussion, therefore,
proceeds quite independently from the historical outline, following de Miroschedji’s
bipartite NE I/NE II division established through excavations at Susa.

The lowlands
Traditionally a key location along an important foothill route linking Susa with the
Diyala and Upper Mesopotamia, Deh Luran has no attested settlement at the outset
of the first millennium but appears to have been (re-­)established shortly thereafter
(Wright and Neely 2010: 114). Although excavations have yet to be undertaken in

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Figure 13.3  Map indicating main sites mentioned in text (Google Earth 2016).

the area, ample Neo-­Elamite sherds have been collected particularly around Tepe
Patak, ‘Ain Kosh and Gārān (Carter and Wright 2010: 15). These three sites are reg-
ularly distributed from east to west approximately 16–17  km apart, pointing to a
transport route along the northeastern slopes of the plain (Wright 2010: 91).
Progressing south onto the Susiana plain, surveys have identified 20 sites with
indications of NE I habitation and six with NE II (de Miroschedji 1981c: 170–171,
Figs. 55–58). An intensification of settlement on the southeastern side, east of the Dez
river, along the road to Ram Hormuz suggests Susiana’s inhabitants were deserting
the more exposed parts of the plain (Carter 2007: 143–144, 146). Despite its vacillat-
ing fortunes, the lowland Elamite capital of Susa continued to be inhabited through-
out this period. Comprised of four mounds – the Acropole, Apadana, Ville Royale
and Ville des Artisans – its imposing tell was the focus of large-­scale excavations by
the French archaeological delegation from the late 19th century (see Figure  13.4).
In the early years of investigation, Jacques de Morgan reached Neo-­Elamite layers
on the Acropole in his trenches 7, 8, 13 and 15–18 (de Miroschedji 1978: 213),
where he yielded the fragments of two inscribed steles dating to Šutruk-­Nahhunte
II’s reign, the famed bitumen relief depicting a seated elite woman spinning thread,
and the fragments of Atta-­Hamiti-­Inšušinak II’s inscribed stele depicting the elabo-
rately costumed regent seated before another elite individual (recently identified as an
Elamite lord; see Gorris 2014: 156). This mound had long served as the cultic hub of
Susa and its continued religious importance is signalled by a rare Neo-­Elamite archi-
tectural find: a square, single-­room temple on its southeast side housing an “altar”
decorated with griffins, horses, lions, winged scorpions and vegetal motifs (Amiet

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Figure 13.4  Plan of tell of Susa indicating excavation areas

(from de Miroschedji 1978: Figure 48).

1966: 505, 518–522). Associated inscribed glazed bricks suggest its dedication by
Šutruk-­Nahhunte II and Hallutuš-­Inšušinak II to the principal Susian deity Inšušinak
(Steve 1987: 50, n. 154). Nearby, the Acropole texts were found in what was evi-
dently a Neo-­Elamite building (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 198, Pl. 100).

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During 1912–1939, Roland de Mecquenem took over excavations at Susa and

shifted the primary focus to the Apadana and Ville Royale, which both produced sub-
stantial Neo-­Elamite mortuary remains. In the Apadana, he opened three trenches:
a large cut to the east of Darius’ palace on the border of the Ville Royale where he
believed he was excavating a “nécropole élamite” and cuts underneath its central and
west courts. In the southwest of the Ville Royale, he worked in two trenches, Sondage
1 and Sondage 2, where most of the Neo-­Elamite material again derived from pit
burials and mud-­brick vaults. Among the significant non-­funerary finds were a group
of seven “Apadana texts” (MDP 11 301–307), mostly promissory notes for silver
and gold, contemporaneous with the Acropole corpus (Stolper 1992b: 267–268).
Architecturally speaking, de Mecquenem’s only recorded Neo-­Elamite finds in the
Apadana and Ville Royale were the numerous baked and unbaked mud-­brick vaulted
tombs, often preceded by an antechamber (e.g. Figure 13.5) (for a more detailed out-
line of de Mecquenem’s Neo-­Elamite finds in these tells see Wicks 2017).
Working later in the north of the Ville Royale in his Chantier A, Roman Ghirsh-
man encountered further Neo-­Elamite mortuary remains, mostly pit graves, in levels
X and IX (Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2002/2003: 470; for the problems of dating these
levels see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 29–38). A  second cut in the south, Chantier B,
revealed remnants of Neo-­Elamite or early Achaemenid constructions, and in level
I of the Village Perse-­Achéménide on the west border of the Ville des Artisans, part of
a multi-­roomed building containing three late Neo-­Elamite texts was excavated (de
Miroschedji 1978: 215; Potts 2016: 295, with refs).
In both the Apadana and Ville Royale, de Mecquenem recognised two discrete Neo-­
Elamite levels essentially corresponding to the NE I and NE II. The earlier he labelled
“époque d”, “l’élamite supérieur”, “Suse-­Élam III” or “la couche à grès cérame” for
its profusion of glazed frit. The more recent, which produced an abundance of mate-
rial, he variously designated as “époque e”, “époque néo-­babylonienne”, “la fin de
l’Élam”, “décadence élamite” and “pre-­achémenide” (see especially his annual reports
available online at www.mom.fr/mecquenem/index/rapports). These levels were fur-
ther clarified by de Miroschedji during his 1975–1978 work in the southeast of the
Ville Royale (VR II), where he established a Neo-­Elamite ceramic sequence, and in his
Apadana-­VR trenches 2351 and 2384, and VR-Apadana trench 5244.
In the VR II de Miroschedji (1978: 213–215; 1981a: 37–39) defined two NE I lev-
els, 9–8, consisting of isolated architectural remains and a few burials with material
corresponding to de Mecquenem’s earlier époque d and certain finds from Ghirsh-
man’s VR A levels IX and X. Most characteristic of these layers was a fine, moulded-­
wall goblet and, albeit encountered with increasing rarity, the tall “Elamite beaker”
typical of the preceding level 10, dated c. 11th-­10th century (Figure 13.5) (de Miro-
schedji 1981a: 21, 37). De Miroschedji (1978: 225; 1981a: 19, 23, 37–38) noted
a trend towards coarser ceramics and a rarity of metal and stone objects, and like
de Mecquenem witnessed a proliferation of bowls, pyxides, small bottles and other
objects in frit, often glazed white, blue or green (e.g. Figure 13.5); a stark contrast
with the marked decline in frit production elsewhere in the Near East during the 1st
millennium (Heim 1992: 203). Level 8 yielded the earliest stratified glazed vessels
made of baked clay (de Miroschedji 1981a: 20), corresponding with de Mecquenem’s
(1924: 112–113) observation that glazed frit was typical of époque d and glazed
baked clay of époque e.

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Figure 13.5  Top: Vaulted mud-­brick tomb in the Apadana cut to the east of
Darius’ palace at Susa (from the archives of R. de Mecquenem www.mom.fr/
mecquenem/index/photos, accessed 15 Sept 2015); bottom: characteristic
NE I material (line drawings of NE I ceramics after de Miroschedji 1978:
Figure 52–53; drawings of objects in frit after de Miroschedji 1981a: Figure 27;
objects not to scale).

The next two VR II levels, 7–6, belonged to the NE II and contained some struc-
tural remains and burials with assemblages comparable with those of de Mecquen-
em’s époque e (de Miroschedji 1978: 215), which were typified by various silex and

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iron objects, large pointed-­base amphorae (Figure 13.6a) and small glazed baked clay
objects (e.g. Figure 13.6b) (de Mecquenem 1924: 112–113; de Miroschedji 1981a:
29). Contemporary material was found also in the VR-Apadana trench 5244, VR
A and Village Perse-­Achéménide level I (de Miroschedji 1981a: 38). Levels 7–6 saw

Figure 13.6  Characteristic NE II material [a] ceramics (line drawings after

de Miroschedji 1978: Figure 54); [b] glazed vessels and figurine from Susa and
[c] “inkwell” from Susa (photographs Y. Wicks, courtesy of the Louvre Museum);
[e, f, g, h] metal objects from Jubaji and [d, i] metal objects from Arjan (photographs
J. Álvarez-­Mon, courtesy of the National Museum of Iran; objects not to scale).

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the return of metal vessels, including the distinctive carinated “inkwell” familiar from
Luristan Iron Age III (c. 800/750–650) cemeteries (Figure 13.6c) (Wicks forthcom-
ing a) and the bronze “chalice” with outwards flaring walls (Figure 13.6d). Another
novel metal product was the iron-­stemmed clothing pin with precious metal-­covered
bitumen head (Figure 13.6e) (de Miroschedji 1990). The pronounced changes in NE
II material coupled with “disjunctions in stratigraphy” signal a disruption between
the NE I and II phases (Carter 1994: 73), but from now until the reign of Darius, a
continuity in material culture attests to the city’s quick recovery after 646 (Henkel-
man 2003b: 253). More than merely surviving, Susa evidently thrived during these
late years of Elamite history with religious institutions, administrative systems and
artistic traditions that would be inherited by the Persian Empire (see Álvarez Mon
and Henkelman in Part VIII of this volume).
Barely 30 km to the southeast of Susa lay the Middle Elamite religious centre of
Choga Zanbil, ancient Dur-­Untaš, where Ghirshman (1966: 38, 91) recognised a
Neo-­Elamite presence especially in the Išmekarab temple, an assertion confirmed by
ceramic comparisons with Susa and typical Neo-­Elamite glazed frit objects (Álvarez-­
Mon 2013a: 460). More recently, in his areas B and C, Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
(2007: 45–46, 90–91) discerned two building layers, 2 and 1, dated c. 10th–9th cen-
tury and 8th–7th century, respectively, as well as c. 9–8th century sherds in the debris
of area A. He also emphasises that the inclusion of Dur-­Untaš as a “royal city” in
Assurbanipal’s enumeration of plundered towns is ample evidence of its continued
importance into the 7th century (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 28).

The foothills and highlands

Explorations further east into the Khuzestan foothill zones preferred as political
bases during the period of confrontation with Assyrian kings (Stolper 1992a: 199)
have produced limited but valuable evidence. A significant recent discovery around
70 km from Susa in the Upper Gotvand Dam catchment area is a settlement referred
to as Kalantar 4, where rescue excavations uncovered residential architecture and
two stone-­lined tomb chambers yielding ceramics with comparisons in de Mirosched-
ji’s Susa VR II levels 9–7 (Valipour et al. 2011).
Progressing southeast, tucked away in the Izeh-­Malamir valley, are two remark-
able outdoor sanctuaries, Kul-­e Farah and Šekaft-­e Salman, distinguished by their
rock-­carved reliefs. These sites were clearly singled out for special ritual use due to
their natural features, especially water sources, and are believed to have been venues
for the events shown on the reliefs themselves: ceremonies involving prayer, animal
sacrifice, feasting and musical processions. Although no associated Neo-­Elamite set-
tlements have been detected in the Izeh-­Malamir valley, the reliefs themselves attest
to the ritual use and political exploitation of the area until the end of Elamite history
(Álvarez-­Mon 2013a: 465).
Six separate reliefs ranging probably from the 9th to 6th century in date are
carved onto Kul-­e Farah’s cliff faces (KFI, IV, V) and boulders (KFII, III, VI) (Álvarez-­
Mon forthcoming). Manufactured c. 9th–8th century and measuring 17.70 m wide × 6 m
high, KF IV is both the earliest and most monumental, incorporating 141 individ-
uals arranged around a large central figure (a king?) seated on a high-­backed chair
beside two tables laden with food and drink (Figure 13.7). Some of the more notable

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Figure 13.7  Line drawing of Kul-­e Farah IV (from J. Álvarez-­Mon 2013b: Figure 16).

figures are attendants in long garments, a weapon-­bearer and a conductor leading

six harpists. The rest are uniformly represented with long, braided hair and short
garment, and all stand with their left hand outstretched and right hand holding a
morsel of food (meat?) up to their mouth. The complex hierarchical structure of
this ritual banquet is created through composition – the relative size of the individ-
uals, their arrangement across multiple registers and their proximity to the central
figure – and is further refined by costume, gesture and activities performed (Álvarez-­
Mon 2013b). A  well-­articulated hierarchy is also visible in the other reliefs, par-
ticularly the c. 8th–7th century KFIII boulder whose entire surface is covered with
a procession of around 200 people. The ritual scenes on these and the remaining
four reliefs, all dated c. 7th–6th century, variously depict animal sacrifice (KFIII,
KFV, KFII, KFI), worship at a fire altar (KFV, KFI), music (KFI, KFIII, KFIV) and
worshipping gestures (KFI-VI). Only KFI offers names for the people shown. The
main figure, Hanne of Ayapir, stands with hands clasped at his waist, wearing long,
braided hair and an elaborate garment bordered by rosettes and fringes. Behind him
stand two smaller-­scale figures, the weapon-­bearing military general Šutruru and
Hanne’s vizier and cupbearer Šutrurura (Potts 2016: 296). In the accompanying
24-line inscription (EKI 75), Hanne invocates several Elamite deities and introduces
himself as son of Tahhi, the kutur (“leader/chief”) of Ayapir and vassal of king
Šutur-­Nahhunte, son of Indada. He dedicates the relief to Tirutir, probably gives an
account of his military victories and various pious acts and finishes with a request
for divine protection for the image and inscription and a curse against any potential
vandals (Stolper 1987–1990: 277).

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At Šekaft-­e Salman on a cliff face beside a cave, creek and waterfall which together
served as the ritual focus of the site, are another four reliefs bearing inscriptions by
Hanne. Two (ŠSI-II) are earlier-dated 12th-­century carvings depicting the Elamite
royal family: on ŠSI two men, a boy and a woman stand in line before a fire-­stand
making various gestures of worship; ŠSII depicts the same group minus the lead male
and fire-­stand, and captions were added hundreds of years later to identify the boy
and woman as Hanne’s daughters Zašeši and Ammatena. Inside the cave’s mouth are
another two reliefs (ŠSIII-IV) that both depict a single male individual and were prob-
ably carved in the Neo-­Elamite period (Álvarez-­Mon forthcoming). On ŠSIII there is
an extensive text (EKI 76) comparable with that of KFI, but the main deity is instead
Mašti “Mistress of Tarriša”, perhaps the ancient name of Šekaft-­e Salman. Amongst
other activities, Hanne states that he intends to create images of himself and his wife
and children (Stolper 1987–1990: 278).
Moving southwest, surveys in the corridor connecting Susiana to Ram Hormuz
have detected only very limited Neo-­Elamite evidence, with just two sites identified
(Moghaddam and Miri 2007: 41). The Ram Hormuz plain itself, however, was an
important Elamite population centre from c. 1350 through to 520 and home to two
major Neo-­Elamite occupations at Tepe Bormi and Tal-­e Ghazir (Carter 1994: 68).
Some scholars believe that the large Tepe Bormi mound, yet to be excavated, may be
identifiable with ancient Huhnur (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2005; contra Alizadeh 2014:
fn. 84). Soundings at Tal-­e Ghazir by David McCown in 1948–1949 produced some
Neo-­Elamite remains in level 1 of Mound B (Alizadeh 2014: 17) and a few burials in a
“dump” area of the Fort Mound (Carter 1994: 70–71). Just 7 km to the northeast near
Jubaji village lies an extensive archaeological zone comprising several hills scattered
with Middle and Neo-­Elamite ceramic sherds (Alizadeh 2014: 240). Evidence for the
flourishing of this area late in our period is the tomb chamber found in 2007 on the
Ala riverbank containing the above-­mentioned “ring” inscribed “Šutur-­Nahhunte,
son of Indada”. It housed two elite female burials in bronze “bathtub” coffins with
assemblages that included typical NE II ceramics, glazed baked clay and metal ves-
sels, as well as unique “inkwell” vessels converted into “teapots” (Figure 13.6f) and
long-­handled metal pans mounted with fish-­woman figurines (Figure 13.6g; and see
Wicks forthcoming b). Other significant finds were several “candelabra” stands (e.g.
Figure 13.6h), blade weapons, a multitude of stone vessels, a profusion of jewellery
and clothing appliqués, and remains of cotton fabric (Shishegar 2015).
Another tomb chamber housing a bronze “bathtub” coffin interment with an
extraordinary assemblage comprised almost entirely of metal items was found in
1982 on the Marun riverbank slightly further south near ancient Arjan, a significant
Sasanian settlement with archaeological remains going back into prehistory. Grave
goods of a local Elamite origin comparable with the Jubaji finds were typical NE II
chalices, a candelabrum and a gold “ring” (Figure 13.6i). Yet in contrast to the Jubaji
metalwork, certain stylistic elements, even if they had evolved independently in Elam,
reflect earlier contact with the Assyrian court. Four of the objects were engraved
with the same inscription “Kidin-­hutran, son of Kurluš”, perhaps naming the male
interred in the coffin (Álvarez-­Mon 2010). The hitherto unseen range and wealth
of goods found here and in the Jubaji tomb supports the assertion that the centres
of power had shifted into the more protected foothill zones in the later part of the
period, enabling a remarkable Elamite resilience.

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Further into the highlands, in the Beshar Valley in Kuhgiluyeh-­Boirahmed province,

a cemetery comprised of stone-­lined, gabled-­roof chambers dated late 2nd–early 1st
millennium was detected in 1999 near the village of Lama. Middle Elamite ceramic
parallels with Susa have been established for the earlier graves, while the later ones
instead show Shogha and Teimuran influences (Jafari 2013). From these, it is diffi-
cult to determine whether the site remained within the Elamite sphere, but as noted
for late 2nd millennium ceramics exhibiting a Mamasani-­Kuhgiluyeh-­Boirahmed
corridor regionalism, ceramic styles could evolve locally and quite independently of
(Elamite) political hegemony (Potts 2013: 132).
In Mamasani itself, an early 1st-­millennium presence has been detected at eight
sites during surveys in the Dasht-­e Rostam-­e Yek and Dasht-­e Rostam-­e Do val-
leys north of Nurabad, and excavations at Tol-­e Spid and Tol-­e Nurabad have both
brought forth Neo-­Elamite ceramics. The nature of habitation at these sites remains
to be clarified (Potts et al. 2009: 156, 181), but the evidence at Nurabad in particu-
lar is promising. Work here yielded pottery comparable with lowland Neo-­Elamite
ceramics and thick walls of a building in Trench B (Phase B9), probably transitional
Middle to Neo-­Elamite in date, and another thick mud-­brick wall directly over it
belonging to a Neo-­Elamite structure (Phases B8 and B7a-­b) (Potts et al. 2009: 72).
Fars has otherwise produced little evidence for Neo-­Elamite presence except at
Tal-­i Malyan, sector EDD, on the Marv-­Dasht plain where early NE I occupation
and three slightly later burials with handmade ceramic types unrelated to lowland
types are documented (Carter 1996: 47). This large settlement’s decline and aban-
donment in the early first millennium is usually seen in terms of a rather problem-
atic model of increasing pastoral nomadism linked to migrant Iranian populations
(Álvarez-­Mon 2013a: 470, with refs). Malyan is recognised as the ancient city of
Anshan, the traditional Elamite seat of power named together with lowland Susa in
the royal titular “king of Anshan and Susa”. Its importance in the Elamite psyche
over the longue durée as both a place and concept is witnessed in the continued
employment of this royal title after the tell’s abandonment (Álvarez-­Mon, Garrison
and Stronach 2011: 13).
Two important additional pieces of evidence indicate that highland Fars had
remained within the Neo-­ Elamite sphere. At the open-­ air sanctuary of Naqsh-­ e
Rustam, later an Achaemenid royal burial site, a Neo-­Elamite royal (?) male and a
crowned female were added to a 17th century relief. Likewise at Kurangun a series
of Neo-­Elamite style worshippers were added to an older relief of approximately the
same date. Both additions point to a continuity in religious tradition and political
authority in the area down into the first millennium (Potts et al. 2009: 12; Álvarez-­
Mon 2013a: 469–470).

NEO-­E LAMITE CULTU RE AND S O CIE TY

Our understanding of Neo-­Elamite culture and society remains rather modest, par-
ticularly for the large segment of the population represented by the common people.
We know little about, for example, precisely where and how they lived, worshipped,
worked and ate, the myths they told, or how childhood and gender roles were con-
ceived. At best, in view of the tribal groups occupying Elam’s permeable territorial
fringes and the significant Iranian presence documented in later textual sources, we

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can be assured of this society’s diversity. A  progressive Iranian-­Elamite accultura-

tion undoubtedly contributed to the evolving face of southwest Iran throughout the
Neo-­Elamite period and has attracted much scholarly interest in recent years (e.g.
see Tavernier, Chapter 9 in this volume), but pinpointing the visible changes in the
archaeological record that reflect this interaction, and likewise relations with border
groups, remains an avenue for future research. Also demanding consideration is the
close contact of the Elamite royal families with their elite counterparts in southern
Babylonia, including at least two attested intermarriages (Henkelman 2008: 36, with
refs), and with the Assyrian court.
Our best iconographic evidence for Neo-­Elamite society is offered by the Izeh-­
Malamir reliefs with their highly politicised depictions of sometimes large numbers
of people gathered in the presence of the gods for a ritual event to reinforce loyalty to
a single, central individual. Perhaps the product of a complex political system relying
on a network of loyalties, the socio-­political hierarchy still emblazoned today across
the rocky faces of Kul-­e Farah was a highly articulated one. Participants were care-
fully positioned and painstakingly detailed with variations in garment, headdress,
hair, adornment, props, gesture and roles played, all of which undoubtedly inter-
sected to designate the multiplicity of ranks, titles and positions documented for the
Neo-­Elamite court, military, religious and civilian hierarchy (as outlined by Henkel-
man 2008: 20–28). Much remains to be achieved in the field of Elamite social history,
but Hanne’s inscriptions, even if by and large poorly understood, offer fascinating
glimpses into the importance assigned to women and children, or at least the royal
family unit, in public political life.
These open-­air pilgrimage sites, together with the sanctuaries at Kurangun and
Naqsh-­e Rustam, also provide our most compelling evidence for Neo-­Elamite cultic
practice. The depicted fire altars, animal slaughter and worshipping gestures seem to
represent an adaptation by the ruling class of urban-­based temple rituals into a nat-
ural setting (Álvarez-­Mon 2014: 26). Their objective may have been to gather tribal
(agro-­)pastoralist groups occupying areas outside the major centres and in border
areas of Khuzistan’s west, north and east to reinforce their relations with the king
(Henkelman 2003b: 258–259; 2011: 128–133). Evidence for places of worship in the
urban centres is fairly circumscribed, comprising only the square temple on Susa’s
Acropole and scattered bricks inscribed by Neo-­Elamite kings claiming to have built
or restored temples to various gods (IRS 59–62). The religious city of Choga Zanbil
also reveals evidence for Neo-­Elamite occupancy, but little can be said of cultic prac-
tices here at this time.
As diverse as Neo-­Elamite society was the pantheon of its gods. An Elamizing
trend commencing in the second millennium continued during our period with the
addition of many previously unknown gods, including Hanne’s Mašti, to the princi-
pal divinities Inšušinak, Napiriša, Lagamal, Pinigir, Nahhunte and particularly Huban
who we have already witnessed in many royal names (Vallat 1998). This diversity is
accompanied by a rich mythological and religious visual repertoire preserved in the
mediums of glazed frit and clay (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 237–261), late Neo-­Elamite
glyptic (Garrison, Chapter  32 in this volume) and metalwork from the Arjan and
Jubaji tombs (Álvarez-­Mon 2010; Shishegar 2015). Relations between Elamites and
their divinities – especially the rulers who enjoyed their special protective kitin – are a
major theme in the preserved monumental inscriptions. The longer texts on the steles

267
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and reliefs are generally poorly understood, but of particular interest is Tepti-­Huban-­
Inšušinak II’s stele (EKI 85) inscription, which allocates cattle and sheep/goats to
various cultic officials, including a “high-­priestess of the ‘aside’ temple of Huban” to
be slaughtered for a ceremony in the husa (“grove”), a location regarded by some
scholars as a burial site for the Elamite dead, particularly royalty (Henkelman 2008:
27, 441–452). In our period, the netherworld aspect of Inšušinak becomes particu-
larly pronounced (Steve 1987: 51), but there is no confirmed association between his
temples and burial sites.
Even though the vast majority of Elamite archaeological material was retrieved
from mortuary contexts, Elamite funerary practices have failed to attract much
scholarly attention. Except for a few isolated child cremations deposited in jars at
Choga Zanbil, the Neo-­Elamite lowland burials were either primary, multiple (con-
secutive) inhumations in vaulted mud-­brick tombs or single inhumations in pits, jars
or brick-­lined pits. In the mountainous zones, the Elamite dead have been found
interred in pits or stone-­lined chambers. The Neo-­Elamite use of coffins is so far
isolated to Arjan and Jubaji, and these examples can be linked to a U-shaped bronze
coffin of Assyrian origin found in funerary contexts at Nimrud and Ur (see Wicks
2015). In terms of burial location, the Arjan and Lama burials attest to extramural
burial, but otherwise targeted archaeological excavations of tell sites have favoured
the discovery of intramural burials. In these urban areas, the practice of residential
(i.e. subfloor) interment is usually taken for granted, although this ignores the gen-
eral inability of archaeologists to recognise direct connections between tombs or
graves and the buildings above. To the contrary, evidence for non-­residential burial
as, for example, in the above-­mentioned Tal-­e Ghazir Fort Mound, has been more
forthcoming (Wicks 2017).
The deceased were generally accompanied by a fairly standardised range of
goods. They were sometimes adorned with jewellery and occasionally provided
with weapons, but most common were vessels for serving and for short-­term stor-
age and pouring of liquids, both used for provisioning food and perhaps other ritual
acts such as libations. Further evidence for food offerings is provided by larger liq-
uid and dry storage vessels found in tombs, animal bones (usually of sheep/goats),
and even date remains (e.g. de Miroschedji 1981a: 27). The NE II burial assem-
blages, with the Arjan and Jubaji tombs at their pinnacle, reveal substantially more
wealth and greater variety in material production than those of the NE I. Like the
intensification of building activities boasted by kings and the movement of goods
attested in the Acropole texts, these changes are no doubt linked to favourable
socio-­political and economic circumstances. One can point especially to Elam’s
success in controlling important long-­distance trade routes, which must have pro-
vided significant impetus for its Babylonian alliances, and its ability to maintain
relations with the agro-­pastoralist groups occupying its border areas (Henkelman
2008: 35–39).

CONCLUS IO NS
The conception of the Neo-­Elamite period as one of decadence and decline has been
outmoded by the recent unveiling of a vital and fascinating cultural landscape inher-
ited by the Achaemenid Persians. Yet our understanding of Elam at this time, as in

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all periods of its history, is still largely reliant on the results of investigations in the
lowland areas, particularly at Susa. This situation negates the possibility of recreating
the true character of its lowland-­highland identity, particularly at a time when the
foothills were the preferred power bases. As the number of chance finds gradually
accrues with development works in these zones, and planned excavations of promis-
ing sites are carried out, a more complete picture of Neo-­Elamite Elam will undoubt-
edly continue to crystallize.

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courts. In: Jacobs, B. and Rollinger, R. (eds.) Der Achämenidenhof. Wiesbaden: Harrassow-
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———. 2013. In the Shadow of Kurangun. Cultural Developments in the Highlands between
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 PART IV

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS
ON THE EASTERN AND
WESTERN FRONTS
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GREAT DOMINO GAMES

From Elam, looking eastwards

Massimo Vidale

Naram-­Sin’s enemy is also my enemy, Naram-­Sin’s friend is also my friend.

(from the Treaty of Naram-­Sin, D. T. Potts 1999: 111)

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then a friend of my enemy, is my enemy.
The enemy of my enemy can still be my enemy.
(ancient proverbs, now widely spread by weblore)

INTRODU CTIO N
The goal of the following pages is to present some aspects of the relationships of the
Elamite world1 with the protohistoric polities of the eastern Iranian Plateau during
the 3rd millennium BC. The (somewhat disconnected) starting points will be: the par-
tial scenarios of the spread and abandonment of the “Proto-­Elamite” writing systems
across the Iranian Plateau; afterwards, the fragmentary historical geography of the
same Plateau during the Middle Bronze age reconstructed by Piotr Steinkeller (1982,
2006, 2008, 2014); the acknowledgement that L’âge des échanges inter-­ iraniens
(Amiet 1986, 2007) for more than four centuries (ca. 2300–1900 BC) was “a period
marked by an astonishing intensification of international contacts . . . complicated
by a number of different and not necessarily contrastive facets like military conquest
and raids, interdynastic marriage  .  .  . both as a mean of alliance and/or control,
and intensive and patterned commercial enterprises on the long distances” (Salvatori
2010: 245).
I will try to compare what we have from well-­known and frequently quoted his-
torical sources (to a great extent coming from royal inscriptions from Mesopotamia)
with the fragmented, heterogeneous inventories of archaeological finds that witness
contacts and materials exchanges among the involved protohistoric centers of power.
Looking to Steinkeller’s map of the eastern polities (Figure 14.1), and considering the
abundant historical and archaeological reconstructions of the proto-­history of south-­
western Iran (including Carter 1998; Carter and Stolper 1984; T. F. Potts 1994; D. T.
Potts 1999, and the above-­mentioned papers of Steinkeller), it is clearly impossible to

275
 — Massimo Vidale —

Figure 14.1  The eastern polities of the 3rd millennium BC as reconstructed by

Piotr Steinkeller (1982), in a map drafted by F. Desset.

discuss the eastern interactions of the Elamite world without considering at the same
time, even marginally:

(1) the contacts and clashes of Elam with the Sumerian and Akkadian city-­states,
and with the later empires and kingdoms;
(2) the interactions among the single eastern powers, of which we know much less,
or – in some important cases – almost nothing;
(3) the interactions of the Akkadian world with the individual eastern polities, and
their consequences for international scenarios.

Between snippets of information and major voids, the history of the last centuries of
the 3rd millennium BC indicates that, like in a Domino game with multiple players,
each eastern polity, from the Indus to the Oxus to the shores of the Persian Gulf,
could communicate and interact with its neighbors through some specific, sometimes
ephemeral, aspects of their economic and political systems. In Domino terms, these
specific interests might be visualized as the matching numbers of the tesserae: adjoin-
ing pieces with the same numbers could form temporary, long interaction chains.
But in another mode of the game, the same tessearae could stand up to fall one on
the other, alone or in groups, determining fast, ruinous and sometimes unpredictable
chain effects in a global collapse.

HETEROGENEITY OF THE S O U RCE S

One of the main obstacles to a balanced historical reconstruction is the intrinsic
heterogeneity of the available sources. Mesopotamia, the main character of our nar-
ratives, is better known. It has a textual heritage that, although almost overwhelming,

276
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

is still largely ignored by archaeologists that work in Middle Asia, and even (with few
exceptions) by those active in the Near East. Sadly, field archaeology, archaeometry2
and historiography based upon textual sources often work at scales of detail that
are incompatible or do not tackle the same questions; these fields of study are still
searching for common languages. Moreover, the available Mesopotamian cuneiform
texts come mostly from large archives abandoned or destroyed at the end of the
21st century BC during the collapse of the Ur III centralized state. Almost paradoxi-
cally, such an abundance of historical evidence and a long tradition of archaeological
exploration still coexist with major faults and uncertainties in the main chronological
frameworks.
In contrast, the archaeology of the easternmost pole of early urban life, the Indus
valley civilization, is based upon a solid chronological grid formed using hundreds
of coherent radiocarbon dates (increased by recent field research after the publica-
tion of Kenoyer 1991); from some points of view, its material culture is much better
known than that of the west, and its changing patterns of regional trade have been
thoroughly investigated (e.g. Law 2011). But even those who, like me, are fond of the
Indus civilization will admit that archaeological phases and moved rocks, in absence
of written and deciphered texts, still have limited historical bearing for the wider
global picture of the social evolution of Southern Eurasia.
The lands in between, the semi-­arid endoreic basins and inner valleys of Middle
Asia, between southern Central Asia, the northern coasts of the Persian Gulf, the
Zagros to the west and western Baluchistan to the east, hosted a variety of settled
or semi-­sedentary lives, and often emerging large early urban polities, known and
excavated only to a minimal extent (Vidale 2010). Writing technologies appeared on
the Iranian Plateau as a rare, discontinuous variable; their evolutionary trajectory is
unknown, and the two main systems presently under study (so-­called Proto-­Elamite
and Linear Elamite) are still far from being deciphered (Englund 1996; Dahl 2013;
Desset 2012). Furthermore, the discovery at Konar Sandal South of a new form of
geometric writing dated to the the second half of the 3rd millennium BC (Desset
2014) has recently introduced new and unexpected problems.
Both Soviet archaeology in southern Central Asia (Masson and Sarianidi 1972;
Kohl 1984) and pre-­ Islamic archaeology across the Iranian Plateau had long-­
established traditions of field research, but since the late 1970s the Islamic Revo-
lution in Iran and the Afghan collapse have completely changed the picture. While
pre-­Islamic archaeology in Iran was relinquished for a generation of studies, the van-
ishing of state control and spreading poverty in many unexplored regions of Central
and Middle Asia allowed a general, devastating looting of hundreds of archaeological
sites (Pottier 1984; Ligabue and Salvatori 1988; Vidale 2017).
Meanwhile, after 1989, the independence of Turkmenistan subtracted local archae-
ology from the prestigious leadership of Leningrad’s academy. As a consequence, the
landmark discoveries of the great Bronze Age palatial centres of Margiana took place
under decreased scientific standards, and quite questionable interpretations were
made (Sarianidi 1998, 2002, 2006, 2007, 2008). However, even in this problematic
light, the Oxus civilization, a great, previously unknown actor, had come to light.
The more recent discovery (through another ruinous looting) of another pow-
erful Middle Bronze age polity apparently centered on the Konar Sandal site com-
plex (Madjidzadeh 2003, Madjidzadeh and Pittman 2008), ca. 30 km south of Jiroft

277
 — Massimo Vidale —

(Kerman, Iran), identified by P. Steinkeller (2014) with the ancient country of Marhaši,
and of new early-­urban settlements along the piedmont of the Jazmurian depressions
(Heydari et al. 2015) suggest that many of the proposed reconstructions, and not a
few theories, had been built on substantial gaps of knowledge rather than on reliable
archaeological data (gaps are perfect for archaeological reconstructions: as far as they
remain such, there is no need for updating and organizing the data). This chapter will
argue that voids in historical knowledge of protohistoric Middle Asia are still general-
ized, to the extent that even a single object – for example, the Oxus silver goblet from
a private collection (see section ‘A new Oxus figurated silver vessel”) – may change our
understanding of ancient history, and that well-­known iconographic sources, in light
of the emerging historical picture, can be interpreted in a new, transformed light (see
section “Bad buffaloes vs. good buffaloes”).

FROM MODELS TO RE AL ITY

Among the most important traditional theories, some very influential since the 1970s,
is the world-­system theory imposed onto the relationships between Mesopotamia
and the almost completely unknown highland “peripheries” (among others, Algaze
1989, 1993; Stein 1998). From this theory, in turn, was derived the view that centers
of the eastern Iranian Plateau like Tepe Hissar and Shahr-­e Sokhta had hosted com-
mercial enterprises that exploited their intermediate geopolitical setting to make prof-
its by rough-­cutting lapis lazuli and other stones along the routes to Mesopotamian
markets (Tosi 1974; Tosi and Piperno 1973). Recent palaeotechnological studies on
the lapis lazuli workshops at Shahr-­e Sokhta (Vidale and Lazzari 2017), in contrast,
do not confirm such a wide-­scale economic adaptation, but reveal a simple, efficient
bead-­making industry to meet local demand, possibly interlaced with the movements
of nomadic pastoralists.
Similarly, the early discovery at Tepe Yahya – a small settlement at the presumed
western margin of the Halil Rud or Marhaši civilization – of a manufacturing area of
elaborated carved chlorite objects (Lamberg-­Karlovsky 1970; Kohl 1975, 1977). The
evidence supported a then-­palatable “intercultural style” (Lamberg-­Karlovsky 1988)
purposefully invented by specialized craftsmen of the Plateau for selling their deco-
rated stone pots along the Gulf and in Mesopotamia. The discoveries of the Jiroft
sites now demonstrate that the purported “intercultural style” actually materialized
the myths and ideology of powerful local dynasties rather than the long-­distance
profits of shrewd and crafty entrepreneurs. The wide diffusion of these products,
including the whole corpus of the Tarut chlorite vessels fragments (Zarins 1978),
would be better investigated taking into account the possible multitude of different
processes and contingencies (Vidale 2015).
No one wants to simply dismiss the crucial role of long-­distance trade in the devel-
opment of the early urban communities of the Iranian Plateau, but, at least as far
as lapis lazuli and chlorite are concerned, the eastern settlements were extracting or
importing the stones for making their own ornaments rather than for trading them
westwards. In this light, the loads of raw lapis blocks stored in Royal Palace G at
Ebla (Pinnock 1995) that are not rough-­cut3 but simply reduced to convenient lumps
for transport would rather suggest direct forms of procurement near the source areas
(possibly through state-­sponsored parties similar to Hatshepsut’s Punt expeditions).

278
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

A recent study by T.C. Wilkinson (2012) of trade flow in the Bronze Age in terms
of route inertia and dynamism, and dedicated GIS studies, came to the conclusion
that the current understanding of “. . . hierarchy of routes, or the actual density of
traffic along these roads or routes” is extremely low, and that much of what has
been written, so far, is basically superficial “archaeological imagination” (Wilkinson
2012: 312). The same impression is supported by the almost total archaeological
blank represented by the notion of a great sea route managed by “Meluhhans” that
brought westwards cargoes of lapis lazuli, precious wood, animals and other exotica,
conveyed by not a few cuneiform texts of variable nature (see Pettinato 1972; Frenez
2011; Kenoyer 2008; Ratnagar 2004; Possehl 1996; T.F. Potts 1994; Chakrabarti
1990 and others), but still not archaeologically matched by the same finds in enclaves
and ports4 and reliable administrative documents.
Eventually, the fading models on the primary causal roles of long-­distance trade
made abundantly clear that:
. . . il est aujourdhui difficile et sans doute insuffisant de tenter d’appréhender
les populations de ces régions sous l’optique unique de modèles économiques
fondés sur les “grands échanges” impliquant des relations de dépendance des ter-
ritoires du Plateau Iranien à l’Asie centrale méridionale vis-­à-­vis de la Mésopota-
mie, auquels a éte associé le développment d’entités politiques qui en assuraient
le contrôle sur le Plateau iranien, comme le “phénomène proto-­élamite” (Mutin
2012: 269).

“PROTO- ­E LAMITE” (P E ) CO M M U NITIE S O F

INTEREST, CA. 32 0 0 – 2 8 0 0 B C
The applicability of concepts like that of a Proto-­Elamite (hereafter PE) phenome-
non, state, culture, civilization, let alone that of PE “peoples” has been the subject of
considerable debate and major revisions (among others, consider the balanced and
sharp remarks in Abdi 2003). Obviously enough, many dimensions of ambiguity still
revolve around the definition of “civilization” and how far this label can be loosely
applied to the archaeological picture of the earliest centres of power of the Iranian
Plateau around ca. 3000 BC.5 We may legitimately wonder if we are dealing with
“civilization”, but even more, whether this network should be considered “a” civili-
zation, therefore assuming not only comparable levels of complexity but also the use
of the same language(s), cultural identities and the same institutions.
The term “communities of interest”, here applied to the different cores of the PE
administrative technology, is adopted from a version of “community of practices”
developed by cognitive anthropologists in the early 1990s (Hildreth and Kimble
2004) and now successfully applied in archaeological craft studies (Wendrich 2006,
2012; Kohring 2012; Sassaman and Rudolphi 2001; Vidale et al. 2016a). The under-
lying theory is that, as a response to sudden transformations, possibly linked to rad-
ical changes like those brought on by globalization trends, organizations based upon
formalized roles and hierarchies, and made of specialized functional blocks, would
move towards more fluid and emergent social forms such as networks and communi-
ties. This shift would involve a relatively open access to the peripheral participation
of newcomers and intensive shared learning, ultimately resulting in unusually fast
forms of socio-­technical innovation and general change.

279
 — Massimo Vidale —

Possibly, in the late 4th millennium BC, in the frame of the still mysterious inter-
active processes of the “Uruk expansion” across wide stretches of the Iranian Plateau
(Algaze 1989, 1993; Stein 1999a; Petrie 2013, and many others) and the northern areas
(e.g. Stein 1999b), local communities of the Iranian Plateau intercepted important
flows of information. They became first familiar with the use of numeral/numeral
logographic notations, and then invented or learnt to master writing systems linked
to the Susa III tradition, and to shape for themselves pivotal roles in the management
of local rural economies (as described for Godin Tepe by Matthews 2013 and found
for Tepe Yahya by Damerow and Englund 1989).
Such communities of interest possibly involved families with preferential access
to land exploitation, chief herdsmen and/or religious and political leaders. They
implemented a certain degree of centralization of the local rural production through
archives and granaries or warehouses, by monitoring with permanent written docu-
ments the storage and distribution of cereals, livestock and secondary products and
the work of laborers and slaves. Literacy may have been taken over by a composite,
fluid social context rather than being imposed by an established formal hierarchy. As
remarked on several occasions, valuable craft goods and their distribution are pecu-
liarly absent from these written records, thus denying their presumed association to
the profitable long-­distance trades envisaged in the 1970s.
It is not clear how the different PE information processing centers (from Susa to
Tal-­i Ghasir, Tal-­i Malyan, Tepe Yahya, Shahr-­e Sokhta, Tepe Sialk, Tepe Sofalin and
Tepe Ozbaki) materially interacted and culturally affected each other. Apparently not
much, judging from the noticeable regional variations in the signs, but this might be
an artifact of a biased approach. In the quicksand of a serious problem of absolute
chronology (Dahl et al. 2013), the focus is on the relationships of the outer centers
with Susa and the latest ceramic similarities with the late Uruk complexes of lower
Mesopotamia rather than the possible active links among the various centers with PE
administrative evidence of the Iranian Plateau.
PE communities of interest, however, seem to have exhausted their roles, economic
potential and prestige soon after 2800 BC. While in the Central-­western Plateau
(Ramhormoz plains and Kur river basin) PE information technology came to an end
together with centralized urban life, more eastwards it was abandoned while major
cities like Shahdad, Konar Sandal and Shahr-­e Sokhta reached their maximum size.
The ephemeral rise and dissolution of PE literacy (McCall 2013: 284), ultimately,
might be better explained by a “from the bottom up” perspective that does not imply
a centralized government structure nor necessarily the sharing of the same language
or languages, or of any particular ideological form, but – as wittily pointed out by R.
Matthews (2013) – the fragile social preeminence intrinsic in the use of writing itself.

HISTORICAL AND ARCHAE O L O G ICAL

EVIDENCE, CA. 2 9 0 0 / 2 8 0 0 -1 8 0 0 B C
This section attempts to make a broad correlation between the reconstruction of the
main historical events of the 3rd millennium BC, first strictly after well-­known and
widely discussed western sources (Table 14.1), then to combine in a general picture
for the second half of the same millennium the evidence of selected material contacts
among the eastern polities across the Iranian Plateau (Table  14.2). The partiality,

280
 Table 14.1  Historical evidence of interaction between the Mesopotamian states and the eastern polities across the Iranian
Plateau, ca. 2900/2800 to 1800 BC. The ethnonym of Marhaši, for simplicity, is here
maintained in place of the Akkadian Barahshum.

Mesopotamia Lowlands Highlands Marhaši Meluhha

First half of the 3rd Clashes with Elam, Awan and other locations Early Dynastic “cities”
millennium BC: hostilities seal impression at Konar
of Early Dynastic rulers Sandal South
against portions of the
western Iranian Plateau
ca. 2300–2250 BC Destruction of Elam, Arawa, Sali’amu, Kardede, Marhaši listed among the Meluhha’s ships at the
Sargon’s conquests. Booty Heni, Bunban, Huzi-­x, Gunilaha, Sapum (part of defeated polities. Linear docks of Akkad (royal
from Arawa, Sali’amu, Simaški), Awan, Susa, Sherihum. Akkadian city Elamite tablets at Konar propaganda inscriptions)
Kardede, Heni, Bunban, governors at Susa Sandal South
Sapum, Awan and Susa.
Rimush’s campaigns. Elam and Marhaši chief enemies of Akkad. Defeat of Zahara, Elam, Marhaši at Mention of Meluhha as
Stone vessels, gold, Marhaši itself, and capture of its king Abalgamash and his general Sidga’u; “. . . enemy
copper, slaves, diorite he tore the roots of Marhaši out of the land of Elam”. Mention of Gupin
and dushu-­stone brought
back as booty
Manishtushu’s campaigns Conquest of Anshan (Tall-­i Malyan in Fars),
Sherihum and Pashime (western Iranian coasts of the
Persian Gulf)
Naramsin campaigns. Conquest of Lullubum (northern Zagros) and Elam. Akkadian defeat of
Stone vessels as booty General rebellion against Akkad. Naramsin’s alliance Marhaši
from Magan treaty with an unnamed Iranian polity at Susa(?)
Sharkalisharri Elam and Zahara attacked Babylonia but were Interdynastic marriage
defeated; capture of Sarlagab king of Gutium with a princess of
(northern Zagros) Marhaši

(Continued)
 Table 14.1 (Continued)

Mesopotamia Lowlands Highlands Marhaši Meluhha

Dudu Campaign against Elam
(?)
ca. 2100 BC: fall of Akkad, Gutium’s rise to power in Puzur-­Inshushinak6 ruler
Mesopotamia and part of Elam. Growing control of of Susa, Awan, Anshan?
the Anshanites on Babilonia
Gudea of Lagash . . . defeated Anshan in Elam
Ur-­nammak rise to Ur-­nammak’s campaign against Puzur-­Inshushinak.
power, founding of the Ur Susa again under Mesopotamian rule
III dynasty. Members of
Puzur-­Inshusinak family
captives in Ur
Shulgi’s reign. Semi-­ Some aggressions against eastern polities, Diplomats from Marhaši
precious stones, gold, interdynastic marriages with the houses of Anshan at Drehem.
silver and copper taken at and Pashime. Susa and other eastern cities were Liwwir-­Mittashu,
Ur as booty taxable; Anshan, Kimash, Zabshali, Huhnur, Simaški daughter of Shulgi,
and others had a variable status. Eventual rise of the marries a prince of
royal house and polity of Simaški Marhaši
Amar-­Sin Intense diplomatic exchanges with eastern cities and particularly with Marhaši;
limited military campaigns to the east
Shu-­Sin A daughter of the king married a prince of Anshan;
attack on Zabshali and other eastern locations
Ibbi-­Sin A daughter of the king married a governor of Further diplomatic
Zabshali; attacks on Huhnur, Susa, Awan and other exchanges with Marhaši
eastern centers of power
Ibbi-­Sin year 24: Ur destroyed by Elamites and Simaškians. The king captured
and brought in chains to Anshan
Isin-­larsa period Sukkalmah period, consolidation of power by the ?
“kings of Anshan and Susa”
 Table 14.2  Material evidence of interaction between a series of excavated early urban poles of the Iranian Plateau in the second
half of the 3rd millennium (ca. 2600–1800 BC). Sources: D. T. Potts 1999; Amiet 1986, 2007; Ascalone 2006; D. T. Potts
2008a, 2008b; Hakemi 1997; Cortesi et al. 2008; Baghestani 1997; Vidale and Frenez 2015; Kaniuth 2010; Franke 2010, and
other works quoted in this chapter. *, at Tepe Yahya, means that carved chlorite artifacts at the time were made locally.
** Vidale and Lazzari, ongoing research on the richest graves of Shahr-­e Sokhta, Period III, phase 3.

Susa Konar Sandal and south-­ Oxus sites (Namazga V-VI) Persian Gulf Indus valley,
east Iran Baluchistan
Susa Carved chlorite vessels, Copper compartmented Gulf seals, Dilmunite Etched beads,
séries ancienne and seals, various types of seals and impression carnelian beads,
recente, cylinder seals and bronze axes, gold eagle-­like cubic micro-­weight,
impressions, a chlorite applique, stone columns shell bangles and
statuette(?) and disks; segmented disks from Turbinella
copper tyres for carts, pyrum, transformed
faience vessels? Carved Indus seal, head of a
chlorite vessels, séries stone statue, Gulf seal
recente?
Tall-­i Malyan “Bactrian ladies” on
Anshanite seals
Konar Sandal Linear Elamite Basic repertory of copper Transformed Indus
inscriptions vessels, pins, copper seal, etched beads,
on terracotta compartmented seals, stone carnelian beads, cubic
tablets columns micro-­weights, Rohri
chert, green onyx,
Dalbergia wood
Tepe Yahya Carved chlorite vessels*, Copper compartmented Gulf seal Pot stamped with
série ancienne and seals Indus seal, Gulf seal
recente, cylinder seals and
impressions

(Continued)
 Table 14.2 (Continued)

Susa Konar Sandal and south-­ Oxus sites (Namazga V-VI) Persian Gulf Indus valley,
east Iran Baluchistan
Shahdad Linear Elamite Carved chlorite vessels, Basic repertory of copper Etched beads
inscription on série ancienne and recente vessels, pins and other
ceramic vessel? items; form of domestic
ovens, stone columns
Tepe Hissar, Stone columns and disks,
Tureng Tepe agate and gold beads (?),
gold vessels, copper
compartmented seals
Oxus sites Linear Elamite Carved chlorite vessels, Carved chlorite Steatite stamp seals,
(Namazga inscription on série ancienne, série recente. vessels, serie recente carnelian and agate
V-VI) silver vessel(?) Evidence of warfare beads, ivory gaming
with images between the Oxus and pieces, etched beads,
of “Bactrian Marhashi (in this chapter, steatite pots with
ladies” see below) Indus motifs, faience
vessels. Resident Indus
families of craftsmen
and traders?
Shahr-­e Carved chlorite vessels, Stone columns, copper Some families from Before 2500 BC,
Sokhta and série ancienne compartmented seals, the Halil Rud valley imports of domestic
Mundigak kneeling statuettes might have moved items
to Sistan with their After 2500 BC, hell
funerary codes** bangles and inlays,
terracotta cakes and
figurines, steatite
beads, Dalbergia
wood
Persian Gulf Steatite stamp seals, copper Ivory combs, Indus
mirrors(?) seals, transformed
Indus seals, carnelian
and etched carnelian
beads, pots stamped
with Indus seals
Indus valley, Carved chlorite vessels, Copper compartmented Gulf-­like seals,
Baluchistan série ancienne seals, steatite stamp seals, Dilmunite seal
kneeling statues, composite
statuettes (“Bactrian
ladies”)
 — Massimo Vidale —

intricate details and ambiguities of the data are not represented in the following
tables; a proper discussion may be found in D. T. Potts 1999 and 2013, my main
sources are articles by Ascalone 2006 and Steinkeller on the history of Marhaši.
Table  14.1 shows, once again, how fragmentary and unhomogeneous are our
sources. For the first half of the 3rd millennium, royal inscriptions are quite scanty
(D. T. Potts 1999: 87–99) but the so-­called and much discussed Sumerian King List
(see Marchesi 2010) registers an attack of Enmebaragesi of Kish against the high-
lands, a destruction of Ur by the Awanites and the destruction of Awan by Kish. As
summarized in D. T. Potts 1999, between the 27th and 26th centuries BC, Lagash
persistently clashed with eastern polities like Arawa, Uru’aza, Susa and Mishime, all
located within or at the edge of the sphere of influence of the future Elamite powers
(D. T. Potts 1999: 89; see also Álvarez-­Mon 2013).
It is important to stress that Y. Madjidzadeh found, in the earliest layers so far
uncovered in the settlement of Konar Sandal South, an impressed clay tag of the type
commonly known as “city seals”, bearing among others the symbol of Ur (Madjidza-
deh and Pittman 2008: 100, Figure 32e). The clay sealing, applied to a door, belongs
to an early settlement horizon of the city, preliminarily dated by a 14C sample in a
contemporary layer to ca. 2880–2580 Cal BC (2 σ).7 Pittman (2012: 81) posited that
this sealing “. . . is remarkably important for our understanding of the relationship
during the first half of the third millennium between the Halil River valley and south-
ern Mesopotamia”.
In fact, “city seals” in Mesopotamia are considered tokens and media of institu-
tional authority conferred by formal alliances or confederations of city-­states, prob-
ably for specific joint projects (Matthews 1993; Mander 2007). As the sealing of
Konar Sandal South was used on a door, and not on a movable item that could be
shipped, it may have belonged to a diplomat from a coalition of Sumerian cities who
was acting at Marhaši and had the authority to monitor the storage and distribu-
tion of unidentified goods within a room. Although the evidence is limited, it would
demonstrate that an early phase of aggressions and retaliations between Mesopota-
mia and its immediate eastern highland neighbors also involved the active search for
political support from the Marhašeans. As “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”,
they could potentially threaten the “Elamite” enemies from the east.
Table 14.1 then shows a second contingency or historical cycle of the same nature.
After a first phase of intense militaristic aggression by Sargon and Rimush against
the eastern polities, from the late period of Naram-­Sin and Shar-­kali-­sharri’s reign
when threats from east became more and more serious, first an unnamed royal house
at Susa (with Naram-­Sin’s treatise: Álvarez-­Mon 2013: 220), then Marhaši – which
had formerly grown to the extent of being perceived as an evil entity that had planted
its roots in Elam – returned as potentially crucial partners. The support of this pow-
erful polity was then cultivated by the means of dynastic marriages, as well as by a
growing exchange of messengers, diplomats and mercenaries. As the last section of
this chapter will argue, the evolution of the iconography of seals from the early to
the late Akkadian period even shows a changing attitude towards public symbols of
“Meluhha” (whatever was meant exactly by this term) used at the highest levels of
administration.
What we can reconstruct of the foreign eastern politics of the Ur III state when
“. . . embassies came and went, and interdynastic marriages were arranged in times

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 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

that also witnessed brutal attacks on highland regions  .  .  . against the recalcitrant
east” (D. T. Potts 1999: 139) suggests that the last heavily centralized “empire” of
Mesopotamia had followed, to a large extent, the strategies of the last Akkadian
kings – with the same, perhaps inevitable, disastrous results.
If these historical trends on the whole seem well defined, the course of events
behind the “Elamite” territories controlled by the enemies of the kings of Agade and
Ur are totally unknown. The Domino tesserae had suddenly shifted orientation. Did
the “allies” of Marhaši and other eastern groups provide any military help when Lul-
lubum, Gutium and the Simaškians invaded Mesopotamia? Did any conflict outburst
at the eastern gates of “Elam”? And if this happened, in which form and how long
did it last?
The eastern frontier of Elam – Bronze Age eastern Fars, from the eastern Zagros
and the Marv Dasht plains to the Halil Rud basin, with the valleys of Fasa, Darab
and Forg – is still largely unexplored, while the local discontinuity of urban life poses
difficult questions (McCall 2013). In the valleys of Faza and Darab, preliminary
archaeological sequences suggest a settlement gap between the mid-­3rd millennium
BC and the centuries of early Akkadian pressure (de Miroschedji 1972, 1974; Desset
2016b).
A similar break – the transitional phase between the Banesh and Kaftari phases
(Sumner 2003)  – occurred at Tall-­i Malyan, with the interruption of urban life at
Anshan before the reappraisal of the Kaftari period, and at Konar Sandal South,
where a dense urban network and the first citadel were abandoned sometime between
the 25th and the late 23rd centuries BC – somewhat early but perhaps not too early
for a possible synchronism with Sargon’s or Rimush’s attacks (although the citadel of
Konar Sandal South was later rebuilt and the urban core might have shifted further
north: there are no published data on the settlement layout, its hinterland and their
changes in the course of time).
In Table 14.2, a series of early urban centres (vertical column at left) are listed from
the south-­western edge of the Plateau, ancient Elam, to the Indus. Crucial interacting
settlement areas and centers of power appear on the horizontal axis: Susa, the Konar
Sandal site complex of ancient Marhaši, the Oxus sites of the Bactro-­Margiana areas
and the Indus valley with its western borders and sphere of influence in Baluchistan.8
Considering Table  14.1 alongside Table  14.2, the most serious mismatch is the
absence of a clear historical identity for the Oxus civilization. Identified by Steinkeller
as Tukrish (an obscure north-­eastern country mentioned in Mesopotamia mostly in
the first two centuries of the 2nd millennium BC),9 by Francfort and Tremblay (2010)
as Marhaši itself, and by D. T. Potts (1999) as Simaški, the Oxus is as unsubstantial
in historical terms as it is prominent in its archaeological evidence. In this chapter,
I accept Steinkeller’s identification of the Halil Rud civilization with Marhaši, but it
is clear that if Steinkeller is wrong, the whole picture would radically change under
the weight of the historical evidence.
The three most complex columns of Table 14.2 involve:

(1) the establishment of the activities of Indus traders and probably of their family
enterprises for generations in foreign contexts. Such activities are well attested
by the flow of a long list of precious goods and by the invention of hybrid or
transformed seals mixing Indus and local traits, most probably expressing local

287
 — Massimo Vidale —

languages and identity rules (besides Mesopotamia, almost certainly at Susa, in

the Halil Rud valley and in the centers of the Oxus civilization);
(2) the identification of the Kerman region and the Halil Rud valley settlements as
the origins of the alabaster vessels inscribed by Akkadian kings (more than 130
found in Mesopotamia) and of the carved chlorite vessels of the séries ancienne,
and the well-­known enormous distribution of the latter from the Indus to Tran-
soxania and Syria (T. F. Potts 1994: Figure 5; de Miroschedji 1973). While the
alabaster vessels inscribed by Rimush are a perfect witness to his eastern pres-
sures and expeditions, the abundance of various styles of carved chlorite vessels
at Susa, even in the absence of precise stratigraphic information, let us imagine
a complicated history of intensive and variable exchanges, and perhaps a certain
cultural permeability, between Khuzistan and Kerman in the second half of the
3rd millennium BC;10
(3) and the impressive diffusion, between (broadly speaking) 2100 and 1800 BC,
of many important goods, including stone statues, seals, ornaments, and ritual
objects among which are the miniature columns and other symbols of status
from the Oxus to north-­eastern Iran, Susa, Anshan, Kerman, the Persian Gulf,
Baluchistan and (in part) to the Indus valley.11

The adoption of Oxus-­related images, symbols and presumably formal Oxus court
garments at the Anshanite court of the Sukkalmah period, and possibly the use of
Linear Elamite writing might be part of the same wider picture. Linear Elamite is con-
ventionally ascribed to the reign and court of Puzur-­Inshushinak, even if this writing
system was probably used before and after his career, and there is no certainty of its
actual invention at Susa (for Linear Elamite see Desset, Chapter 20 in this volume).12
According to the system of correlations discussed in D. T. Potts (2008a), the spread
of this writing system might be somehow linked to a phase of strong cultural (and
probably political) expansion of the early Oxus state(s) towards south, south-­east
and south-­west.
Potts’ proposed correlation between the appearance of these important symbols
and materials with the advent of the Simaškian confederation that permeated or
occupied Anshan and Susa and eventually destroyed Ur might make, at first sight,
historical sense. However, it is clear that writing, symbols and objects prominent
in the culture of the Oxus core areas might have been so prestigious between the
Elamite highlands and the upper Zagros that they were adopted, once more with a
Domino effect, by the Simaškians and other more eastern groups of the Plateau. The
notion of the faraway Oxus polities might have been thus shadowed to the west,
emerging slowly while the highland cultural identities slowly coalesced in the centu-
ries of the Sukkalmah period.
The impact of the Halil Rud valley/Marhaši centers, at present, is understood
mainly in historical terms, and archaeologically only after the very specific window
of the spread of the carved chlorite vessels, while the Oxus remains a complicated
body of archaeological macro-­evidence with still questionable historic correlates.
This makes it difficult to combine specific information in the same scenarios.
However, all this suggests that in the second half of the 3rd millennium BC the
spheres of influence of these two polities had grown considerably, eventually affect-
ing in depth the geopolitical interactions of the eastern Iranian Plateau. A new silver

288
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

vessel of unknown provenience, but stylistically ascribed to the court art of the Oxus
speaks of an armed conflict between these two regional powers.

A NEW OXUS SILVER VE S S E L , AND ITS

HISTORICAL IM P L ICATIO NS
This incised pedestalled goblet (Figs. 14.2 and 14.3), made of silver (ca. 90–92% silver,
3.5% copper, 1.5% gold, and minor impurities13), belongs in a private collection and has
been only recently published (Vidale 2017: 66–74). A band of circles intersecting in fine
leaves with inner nervures on the upper part of the goblet is of obvious Indus inspiration.14
Below, it shows a cortege scene in which six individuals carry a captive prisoner. The
goblet is 16 cm high, 9.6 cm at the mouth; the foot diameter is 4.6 cm. It weighs 159 g.

Figure 14.2  A silver goblet chased in the “Bactrian” style,

in a private collection, showing a cortege escorting a
handcuffed prisoner (photograph V. Ricciardi).

289
 — Massimo Vidale —

Figure 14.3  A drawing of the same silver goblet, with a rendering of the
main pattern (M. Vidale).

As far as the form is concerned, pedestalled goblets occur in the ceramics of Gonur
(Rossi-­Osmida 2002: 136, Type 3, possibly linked to the wheel-­made goblets of the
cenotaphs in MR 1, period VIII, South cemetery – see Santoni 1984: Figure 8.1.3;
Jarrige 1987, Abb. 77; Jarrige et al. 1995: Figure 7. 27, b and c), approximately dated

290
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

between 2100 and 1900 BC (see also the coupe profonde à pied in Amiet 1977: 95,
Figure 4).
From a stylistic viewpoint, its figuration closely recalls a well-­known series of
“Bactrian” silver beakers with narrative figurations: the banquet beaker in Francfort
2005 (Figure  6 a-­d; private collection), the gobelet à la bataille (Francfort 2005:
Figure 7a-­i, private collection), the gobelet à la chasse (Francfort 2005: Figure 22, at
the Metropolitan Museum, New York), the gobelet à la procession (Francfort 2005:
Figure 25a-­b, at the Louvre) and the gobelet au labour et au banquet (Francfort 2005:
Figure 26a-­c, at the Miho Museum), all unfortunately coming from plundered graves
and the antiques market.
The narrative band shows, from right to left, a bare-­chested character with hair
falling on the neck, beard and a long, decorated gown. He carries a torch or possibly
a stone sceptre. He is followed by another bearded personage, badly preserved, carry-
ing unidentified objects; then another bare-­chested person with a plain kilt, carrying
a weapon with a round protruding blade. The right hand holds one of the enigmatic
objects that look like animal tails and sometimes hang from other objects in Bactrian
art. On the back, he carries a large bulging container with a pending lap (a “wine-
skin”), while another round, compact package seems to hang from the belt. The head
of the fourth individual is covered by what looks like a helmet with a bun at the rear,
like Meskalamdug’s gold helmet in the Royal Cemetery of Ur. He holds a knife (per-
haps for executing the prisoner) and wears a tunic dress that leaves a shoulder naked;
the garment might be covered by tufts similar to those of the Mesopotamian and
Oxus traditions. The next personage carries another “wineskin”, from which hangs
another object resembling an animal tail.
The sixth person is portrayed with completely different features: long hair, a verti-
cal braid on the shoulder, a long, pointed beard and a cross-­hatched kilt that opens in
front like an inverted “V”. He is handcuffed, the hands bent at the back and blocked
by bars with round weights at the extremities, and shows wounds on the shoulder
and on the lower leg. While the pointed beard recalls two male statuettes possibly
coming from south-­eastern Iran of the second half of the 3rd millennium BC (for
example, Francfort 2012: Figure 1a-­e; and Freeman 2013: no. 10), the vertical braid
and the kilt open in front also appears on some human figures on the carved chlorite
vessels of the Marhaši tradition (for example, in the famous chlorite bowl reportedly
found at Khafajah, now at the British Museum – see Aruz 2003: 330–332, no. 227).
All features – braid, beard and kilt – characterize the man as a foreigner, most prob-
ably a vanquished chief from Marhaši. The prisoner is bound and marched on by a
guard that closes the cortege.
This vessel documents that during ca. 2300–2100 BC, the Oxus polity had clashed
with the expansionism of Marhaši: this latter at the time powerful enough to rep-
resent a threat both for Akkad and for its northern neighbors. This is why at the
time prisoners from Marhaši were portrayed with pride both on early Akkadian15
and Oxus propaganda court art. At least in the form of raids for booty, military
expeditions on land routes could leave from Bactria and Margiana and cross the Ira-
nian Plateau for hundreds, if not more than a thousand kilometers. Salvatori (1995)
identified Shahdad on the north-­western edge of the Dasht-­i Lut, as an Oxus karum,
a trade outpost of the Oxus polity; he ascribes the similarities between the copper
artifacts of the Lut and those of Bactria and Margiana to interaction among traders

291
 — Massimo Vidale —

and craftsmen of the two macro-­regions. The clash or clashes for control of the local
north-­south trade routes along which important copper outcrops could be mined,
clashes in which the warriors from Marhaši were defeated, might have taken place
not far from Shahdad. Soon after 2300 BC the eastern, probably loose frontier of the
Elamite world might have been threatened by the expansionist pressure of two super-­
powers, one from the north (the Oxus), the other from east (Marhaši). Judging by the
apparent cultural penetration of northern traits at Anshan and Susa at the time of the
Sukkalmahs, the Elamite houses, from a historical viewpoint, sought the alliance and
support of the Oxus chiefs, while the kings of Sumer and Akkad tried to maintain
close links with the royal house of Marhaši.

BAD BUF FALOES VS. GO O D BU F FAL O E S

This last section considers the possibility that at the Akkadian courts, “. . . internal
mechanisms were developed through the seal cutting workshops to articulate and
disseminate clear political messages” (Buccellati and Kelly-­Buccellati 2002: 17). It
seems that selected animal icons featuring on official seals, depending on the prevail-
ing attitudes towards the eastern polities, could change radically according to spe-
cific contingencies and short-­term political requirements, through coherent, repetitive
transformations. In fact, “. . . It is possible that the lion in the southern contest scenes
could represent the north. An extension of this idea would be that the water buffalo
represents the south-­east. If these hypotheses are valid, we could then interpret the
contest scene in the Akkadian period as one of the visual forms used by the dynasty
to represent their domination (or projected domination) over these two geographical
areas” (Buccellati and Kelly-­Buccellati 2002: fn. 2).
The basis of such inference is the frequency in the long inventory of Tier-
kampfszenen or animal contests of the Akkadian period, of animated fights in which
curly-­haired lahmu heroes defeat lions and water buffaloes,16 which might allude to
the prolonged expansionist efforts of Sargon and his sons towards the upper and
lower seas. Many scenes have a violent emphasis: water buffaloes are lifted by the
hind leg, or the heroes place their feet on the animal’s neck, or their tails are broken
off (e.g. Porada 1968: Pl. IIID). The conveyed meanings are overpowering, tearing
apart, butchering. Sometimes buffaloes are attacked by lions, suggesting – in light of
the above interpretation – that the bearers of the seals in some contingencies might
also identify themselves as northerners (an example in Figure 14.7).
While I fully agree with the idea that the water buffalo might have represented the
east, I also believe that in the same repertories (Boehmer 1965: Taf. VI-XXI; Ziffer
2014 and others), for the middle and late Akkadian periods, explicit reference was
made to the Indus valley or to communities of Indus origin settled along the Persian
Gulf.17 However, in the course of time, even within the time span of the Akkadian
empire, buffaloes were not invariably depicted as overpowered wild creatures. In a
sealing of Sargon’s daughter found at Ur (Figure 14.4, from Boehmer 1965: Taf. XI,
114a) a buffalo appears in a peaceful attitude below the inscription (a place usually
reserved for good animals fed by gods, see Buccellati and Kelly Buccellati 2002: 24)
clearly carved after well-­known Indus models – a very rare icon, judging by Boeh-
mer’s repertory. The inscription reads “. . . -kikudu, the scribe, [is her servant] (Collon
1987: no. 908).

292
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

Figure 14.4  Drawing of the partial impression of a cylinder

belonging to Enheduanna, daughter of Sargon, found at Ur
(from Boehmer 1965: Tafel XI, 114a).

Figure 14.5  Drawing of the impression of a cylinder seal belonging to Ishar-­Beli,

an officer of Tar’am-­Agade, daughter of Naram-­Sin, found at Urkesh
(from Buccellati and Kelly-­Buccellati 2002: Figure 5).

Does this seal reflect a different view of the Indus communities, while commercial
interests and prestige made Sargon very proud of having Meluhha’s ships docked at
Agade’s piers? This shifting view of the easterners perhaps did not necessarily depend
upon political vagaries over time; perhaps the Akkadian court made special cylinders
that might be used whenever it had to present itself to the foreigners in a more pos-
itive light. If the official dynastic seals of the sons and daughters of Naram-­Sin were
still bound to the contest scenes (Tar’am-­Agade’s seal at Urkesh, see Buccellati and
Kelly-­Buccellati 2002: Figure  2; Ukin-­Ulmash’s seal in Boehmer 1965: Figure  256
and Ziffer 2014: Abb. 2), the icon of the “good buffalo” surprisingly reappears with
no changes in the seal impression of Ishar-­Beli, probably a high officer of Tar’am
Agade, always at Urkesh and always below the inscription (Figure 14.5). In this seal,
a divine presentation scene in which a god leads another god before a third enthroned

293
 — Massimo Vidale —

divinity. The latter seems to feed a prancing equid (a mare of onager or a hybrid,
according to the Buccellatis), while the introduced god carries her colt, apparently
under the gaze of the “good buffalo”. In this seal, the north (the steppes) might be
represented by the equids, while the south/south east would be symbolized by the
buffalo. Recognizable wild asses are extremely rare, if not absent, in Akkadian seal
iconography, so the idea that the equids in Ishar-­Beli’s seal were horses might be
equally plausible.
Eventually a totally new emphasis is recognizable in the famous seal of Shar-­
kali-­sharri’s scribe (ex Collection Le Lerque) at the Louvre, whose impression
appears in Figure 14.6 (Boehmer 1965: no. 724, Figure 232; Amiet 1973: no. 231;
Collon 1987: no. 529; Aruz 2003: no. 135, 208–209; Demange 2016, with further
references). The symmetric composition, centered on the box with the inscription
(“Divine Shar-­kali-­sharri, king of Akkad, Ibni-­sharrum, the scribe, his servant”)
is dominated by two majestic “good buffaloes” drinking the water of the double
streams springing from the pots of two lahmu heroes. The name of the scribe  –
“The king created (him)” – is referential and stresses the strict institutional link
with the throne that conferred authority to the scribe. The inversion with the
animal contest scenes is total, and whoever is familiar with the (comparatively
rare) images of water buffaloes in Indus stamps can easily perceive that the skilled
carver of this beautiful seal had an advanced familiarity with the original Indus
models.
The inference is that the king’s personal scribe had specific, officially recognized
links with the Indus communities, but whether in the Persian Gulf or further east is
impossible to state. This conclusion is strengthened by the unusual wavy band that
runs along the base of the seal, clearly representing a single large river flanked by two
parallels chains of mountains. As the twin streams in Mesopotamian art usually refer
to the Tigris and Euphrates, the placing of this river valley below the central com-
position and the “good buffaloes” unescapably points, again, to the Indus – p ­ erhaps
indirectly suggesting that the two Mesopotamian rivers and the Indus had the same
origin in the abzu. It could hardly be by chance that Shar-­kali-­sharri’s reign (see
Table 14.1) was plagued by a growing hostility and warfare with the nearby Elamite

Figure 14.6  3D rendering of the impression of the cylinder of

Ibni-­Sharrum, scribe of king Shar-­kali-­sharri (modified from
Cignoni 2009).

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 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

Figure 14.7  Drawing of the impression of a cylinder seal of a scribe

of Gudea (modified from Porada 1968: cover, Pl. IIa).

and Zagros area, and that in the same years the king sought the support of Marhaši
through high-­level interdynastic marriages.
But if, again, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”, he could also eventually
turn again into a dangerous enemy. A late example of a contest scene in which two
heroes overwhelm a “bad buffalo” in the old, codified iconographic scheme is a ser-
pentine cylinder ascribed to the court of Gudea, bearing the inscription “Gudea,
ensi of Lagash, Ur-­Bau the scribe (is) your servant” (Porada 1968: 140–144, Pl. IIa)
(Figure 14.7).
We are still very far from understanding not only the details but also the historical
core of many crucial interactions of the late 3rd millennium BC and the following
two centuries. In particular, what precisely happened between the eastern “Elamite”
frontier, the Indus groups of interest in the Persian Gulf and Marhaši in the wider
framework of the Mesopotamian pressure is still largely obscure. The southern fringe
of the Iranian Plateau and the coasts of the Persian Gulf are practically unexcavated,
as Baluchistan is. Reconstructing the “Great Domino games” will take a lot of time,
much discussion and, even a bit of good luck.

ACKNOWLED G E M E NTS
My warmest thanks are due to my colleagues Gianni Marchesi, Sandro Salvatori,
Dennys Frenez, François Desset, Richard Meadow, who gave me substantial support
and quite valuable criticism while writing this chapter.

NOTE S
1 The term Elam is here used according to the conventional understanding, although its
correctness for a great part of the 3rd millennium BC, in historical terms, is currently
questioned (Desset 2016a).
2 The archaeology of ancient Mesopotamia still makes a limited use of the natural and
material “hard” sciences for identifying specific aspects of the rural and urban economies.
Or perhaps, better stated: it does not implement the analytical research strategies that
matching textual information would optimize.

295
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3 The lapis lazuli blocks of Ebla show the common light-­colored inner layering of diopside
that helped reduction but had to be removed as far as possible while reducing the stone
into high-­quality lapis ornaments.
4 But see Cleuziou and Tosi 2000 and Frenez 2011. No wreck of the 3rd millennium BC has
been so far identified on accessible sea bottoms of this sea route.
5 For example, Brown (2009), building on the classical definitions of Trigger (2003), and
indirectly through the latter on Childe (1950) (where the concepts of city and urban
revolution are deeply embedded in that of civilization) pragmatically circumscribes the
basic features of civilization to surplus food, density of population, stratified social ranks,
coerced tribute, state systems and accumulated learning (discussion in Abdi 2003: 140–
142). We may wonder, at this point, whether in all early settlements where the PE infor-
mation technology was temporarily active there is sound evidence of a comparable social
complexity and formalized hierarchy. Certainly “accumulated learning” was not always
there, or in the long run it did not work effectively, if PE writing systems disappeared two
or three centuries (?) after their early use and specialized teaching.
6 In middle chronologies, at present, it is generally accepted that Puzur-­Inshushinak lived
at the end of the 22nd century BC, being a contemporary of Ur-­nammak and Gudea; part
of the Linear Elamite inscriptions so far known might be older, even by 2–3 centuries
(contra Dahl 2013), but their dating at present cannot be established in detail (Potts 1999:
122–129; Desset 2014).
7 Later sealings with Early Dynastic IIIa-­IIIb combat scenes show that contacts with Sume-
rian traders continued without gaps in the following centuries (Madjidzadeh and Pittman
2008: Figure 31).
8 Pottery comparisons are not included because of their intrinsic ambiguity and as they
cannot be compared with elite products; nor are considered some classes of material
culture whose provenience and typological variations in space and time are still poorly
understood (like, for example, manifold types of alabaster vases, possibly manufactured
in various regions, from south-­eastern Iran to Sistan and the Elburz, or the conical cos-
metic holders found at Shahr-­e Sokhta, Mundigak, Altyn Depe and other contemporary
sites of the Turanian macro-­region, whose productions areas are unknown, Vidale et al.
2016b).
9 Steinkeller’s arguments are the mention, in written sources of the 18th century BC, of
goods like lapis lazuli, gold containers with bull caps and gold pendants inlaid with car-
nelian and lapis, some of which are in the shape of eagles (Steinkeller 2008). These objects
seem to fit rather well with some of the grave goods unearthed at Gonur by Viktor Sar-
ianidi. Interestingly, one text mentioned by Steinkeller refers to “the kings” of Tukrish,
and this also fits with the general archaeological picture of the evolution of the Murghab
“khanates”, distinguished by a phase of evident political fragmentation in the later settle-
ment phases (Salvatori 2008).
10 The carved chlorite vessels found at Susa were not marked with Akkadian dedicatory
inscriptions, perhaps suggesting that at Susa they did not have the exceptional character
they assumed in Mesopotamia where “. . . the “intercultural style” vessels were merely
exotica with bizzare and meaningless decorations” (Marchesi 2016: 102).
11 The partiality of previous reconstructions can be easily recognized considering that two
of the main actors (the Oxus and Marhaši) had been part of the archaeological scenarios
since no more than 20 or 25 years beforehand, and that the multiplicity of Indus trading
interests along the Persian Gulf was an equally recent acquisition.
12 See above, note 6.
13 Preliminary analysis by G. Guida and M. Vidale at ISCR, Rome, made with a with a Por-
table XRF system X-Met 8000 Oxford Instruments, tube rating 4W, 50 Kv 80 μA, on the
object not cleaned.

296
 — From Elam, looking eastwards —

14 To be compared with the same design on a globular metal vessel of the Asterabad treasure
(Rostovzeff 1920). A similar band runs below the edge of a silver cup from Grave 3235 at
Gonur (Morello 2015, cat. 19, p. 147).
15 Louvre AO 5683, Acquisition 1912, Département des Antiquités orientales: a steatite vase
fragment with a nude vanquished prince, fettered, drawn by a nose ring; reportedly found
at Uruk. See Collon 1996: Figure  13a. Note the pointed beard and the vertical braid,
unmistakable ethnic markers of the prisoner’s provenience from Marhaši (Vidale 2015).
16 According to Richard Meadow, 3rd millennium seal iconography alone does not allow one
to really know the domestic/wild status of water buffaloes in the depictions, although there
are osteological indications that there were domestic buffalo by the Harappan Period in
the Indus basin, and both forms may have been found in the same contexts. Furthermore,
“. . . Whether these indicate the presence of actual animals in Mesopotamia in the Akkadian
period or not is an open question. I have not kept close tabs on the more recent studies of
faunal remains from sites in Mesopotamia, so I cannot give you an authoritative statement,
although previous reports of horns of water buffalo seem to be questionable. It is entirely
possible that water buffalo did not reach Mesopotamia and the Levant in any numbers until
sometime in the first millennium BC” (personal communication to me, D. Frenez and G.
Marchesi; see Patel and Meadow 1998). However, the general context of the animal fights
scenes in Akkadian seals, where water buffaloes are quite frequent, and a good common
sense suggests that these big bovids with powerful crescent horns attacked by Mesopotamian
lahmus were the Arni (Bubalus arnee) and were considered as untamed, dangerous beings
from a foreign world, rather than “peaceful cows”. The general opinion, in fact, is that the
introduction of the Asiatic water buffalo in Iraq in the domesticated form Bubalus bubalis
dates back to the Sasanian (Demange 2016) or medieval periods (Abid and Fazaa 2007).
17 The references to the Indus sphere of influence may also have included the Indian bison or
gaur (Vidale 2004, 2005), but this is another line of research.

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 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ELAM AND BABYLONIA

C. 1400–1100 BC

Ran Zadok

INTRODUC TIO N 1
During the period under discussion, Elam bordered on a unified Babylonia under
the Kassite dynasty, unlike when the preceding period began, under the Kidinuids
(c. 1500–1400 BC), when Elam had two different political entities as western neigh-
bours. At that time, central and northern Babylonia were ruled by the Kassites, while
southern Babylonia was controlled by the so-­called First Sealand Dynasty. Southern
Babylonia was united with the rest of Babylonia in c. 1475 BC at the earliest (by
Ulamburiaš son of Kaštiliaš III, see Brinkman 1993–1997: 6–7, cf. Gasche 2013: 72:
Figure 1). The last ruler of the First Sealand Dynasty, Ea-­gāmil, fled to Elam (see [Car-
ter and] Stolper 1984: 32 with n. 244). The region ruled by the First Sealand Dynasty
was then exposed to Elamite influence, as no barrier separated Susiana (modern Khu-
zestan) from the Sealand and adjacent regions to its west.
Elam was ruled by two dynasties during this period; first, the Igihalkids (c. 1400–
1210 BC), followed by the Šutrukids (1210–sometime after 1120 BC). No dynasty is
recorded thereafter until the 2nd half of the 8th century BC. At that time, Babylonia
was under the longest-­ruling dynasty in its history, viz. the Kassite one, until 1155
BC when its last member was deposed by the Šutrukid Kutir-­Nahhunte. Several syn-
chronisms between Kassite kings and the two Elamite dynasties can be established.
Post-­Kassite Babylonia was ruled by several successive dynasties. As in the preceding
periods, the main arena of peaceful and military exchanges remained the central and
southern sections of the Transtigridian corridor, especially the lower Diyāla basin,
and the Zagros piedmont. The porous nature of the Elamite-­Babylonian frontier in
Rāši (modern Deh Lurān) and Yamūtbal is a longue durée phenomenon. In the long
run, neither Elam nor Babylonia enjoyed any significant territorial gains from their
wars. An international trade route connected Elam and the central Zagros region,
via the Transtigridian corridor and the Euphrates River, with the Mediterranean (see
Boehmer and Dämmer 1985: 73).
Dynastic marriages concluded between both Elamite dynasties and the Kassite rul-
ing house were aimed at keeping mutual peace between both kingdoms. The Igihalkid
kings Pahir-­Iššan, Humban-­numena I and Untaš-­Napiriša married the daughters of

304
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Kurigalzu I and Burnaburiaš II, and Šutruk-­Nahhunte I was married to Meli-­Šīhu’s’s

daughter (see van Dijk 1986: 163–166). The paradox is that these marriages even-
tually generated claims to the Babylonian throne by the Šutrukids, and these claims
were the ultimate cause of military encounters.
The Elamite raids into the heart of Babylonia, including Babylon, had a religious
dimension as well: the Šutrukids took with them to Susa the statue of the main Baby-
lonian god Marduk. This statue was later returned to Babylonia by Nebuchadnezzar
I  who had temporarily conquered Susa. However, many artefacts, some of impor-
tance, like the Hammurabi code stele, remained in Susa until their discovery by mod-
ern excavators (for a detailed list see Potts 2016: 226–227).
Kassite Babylonia enjoyed a long rule under the Kassite dynasty, interrupted only
by a short interval of Assyrian occupation (c. 1225–1219 BC), after which the Kas-
site dynasty was restored to power for several decades. Babylonia was united and
controlled virtually all the alluvium. It enjoyed an effective central government with
an economy dominated by the palatial sector, like most polities in the Near East
and beyond during the age of international connections. Salient features are royal
donations of land to senior functionaries and other prominent figures in order to
secure their allegiance to the crown, and a certain degree of control over the temples.
Regarding Elam, what appears on the surface is that it kept its federative structure,
but this assumption is based only on the implication of the title “king of Anšan and
Susa” borne by most Igihalkid and Šutrukid rulers.2 This title was borrowed from
the first Sukkalmahs, Ebarat II and Šilhaha (see Vallat 1980: 6), in order to legitimize
the new ruling dynasty. Interestingly enough, the Šutrukid Šilhak-­Inšušinak I lists the
Sukkalmahs and Igihalkids as his predecessors, thereby skipping the Kidinuids. The
latter might not constitute a dynasty.
The title li-­ga-­we ri-­ša-­[ak-­ki] (OE, ME li-­ku-­me ri-­ša-­ak-­ka4 with variants), that
is, “great for, over the kingdom” (see Anthonioz and Malbran-­Labat 2013), which
was first borne by Siwe-­palar-­huhpak, king of Anšan, in the 18th century BC, became
part of the titulary of the Igihalkid and Šutrukid kings (except for Kutir-­Nahhunte)
from the reign of Humban-­numena I. The latter was the first ruler after Siwe-­palar-­
huhpak and Tempti-­Akun, who used Elamite in his inscriptions.3 Li-­ga-­we “kingdom,
realm”, being sacred, was considered a numen: it is recorded as the theophorous ele-
ment of the anthroponym Ku-­uk-­li-­ga-­we from Susa as early as the Old Babylonian
period (MDP 23 234, 35).
In truth, the actual relationship between both components, viz. Anšan and Susi-
ana, and their administrative structure in this period, are unknown. Humban-­numena
I’s titulary has me-­er-­ri-­ik, ka4-at-­ri and hal-­me-­ni-­ik Ha-­tàm-­ti-­ik, which may be
rendered (approximately) as “sovereign, master and ruler of the country of Elam”.4
These titles precede su-­un-­ki-­ik (aš)An-­za-­an (aš)Šu-­šu-­un-­ka4 “king of Anšan and Susa”
(König 1965: 37). Hence, it stands to reason that Haltamti “Elam” is a name covering
both territorial components. The same applies to Šutruk-­Nahhunte I’s shorter titulary
where su-­un-­ki-­ik ašAn-­za-­an ašŠu-­šu-­un-­ka4 precedes ka4-at-­ri and hal-­me-­ni-­ik Ha-­
tàm-­ti-­ik (König 1965: 76:22). “Elam” as a name covering both territorial compo-
nents is also extant in the formula (Inšušinak) na-­ap-­pi-­ip Ha-­tàm-­ti-­ip, [na-­a]p-­pi-­ip
aš
An-­ša-­an-­pi, na-­ap-­pi-­ip ašŠu-­še-­en-­pi “The deities of Elam, the deities of Anšan
(and) the deities of Susa” in an inscription of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I (König 1965: 125:
54, 20, see Vallat 1980: 4). Elam is juxtaposed with Susa in the formulae [me]-ni-­ik

305
 — Ran Zadok —

Ha-­tàm-­ti-­ik a-­ak ašŠu-­še-­en-­k[i] “the ruler of Elam and Susa” and me-­ni-­ip Ha-­tàm-­
ti-­ip a-­ak ba-­la ašŠu-­še-­en-­ip “the rulers of Elam and the people of Susa” contained in
other inscriptions of the same ruler (König 1965: 120ff.: 54, 2, 18).
Sources for the history of this period are both Babylonian and Elamite; the for-
mer written in Akkadian (very few in Sumerian) and the latter written mostly in
Middle-­Elamite (ME), early Neo-­Elamite (NE) and Akkadian.The Elamite sources
are all contemporary, except for the important Akkadian letter of a Šutrukid king
(presumably Šutruk-­Nahhunte I, c. 1190–1155 BC) to a Kassite king, which exists
only in a Neo-­Babylonian copy (cf. Paulus 2013: 429 with n. 11). Most of the Baby-
lonian sources stem from the period under discussion, with the exception of several
later chronicles. The Babylonian and Elamite sources are both royal inscriptions and
economic documents. The Middle Babylonian economic documents originate mostly
from Nippur and Ur, unearthed during excavations there. The majority of the Elamite
sources were also discovered during excavations; most are royal inscriptions from
the capitals of Susa and Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša. But unlike the preceding periods, when
almost all the documentation stems from Susiana,5 most of the economic documents
from Elam datable to this period are from Anšan (late ME tablets found during exca-
vations in Tall-­i Malyān). The number of these economic documents is much lower
than the comparable and relatively rich corpus from the preceding Kidinuid period.
In addition, they are written in Elamite and their content is much less variegated
than that of the mostly Akkadian documentation from the century of Kidinuid rule.
The sizable economic documentation from Kapnak (Haft Tepe), which is exclusively
Akkadian, spills over into the reign of the early Igihalkid Attar-­kittah (see De Graef
2013: 275).
The documentation from Igihalkid and Šutrukid Elam is almost devoid of religious-­
literary texts. This is only partially remedied by the numerous and partly elaborate
Šutrukid royal inscriptions. The Igihalkid Humban-­numena I was the first ruler who
composed royal inscriptions in Middle Elamite instead of Akkadian (the only four
Old Elamite royal inscriptions were written several hundred years earlier, cf. above).
The basic type of the ME royal inscriptions is the building inscription. It starts with
the presentation of the king (addressing himself in the first person), and his titles,
e.g., li-­ba-­ak ha-­ni-­ik “beloved (or ‘chosen’) servant” of the titulary deity, followed
by a statement that the sanctuary of the deity is built for the king’s life, longevity and
happy reign. The inscription ends with a prayer for the preservation of the renovated
edifice (e.g. König 1965: 45: 7). The more elaborate inscriptions contain a longer tit-
ulary, more prayers and detailed lists, but they rarely include any historical narrative.
Vallat (1998: 308b) observes that Akkadian documents from the Igihalkids’ time are
rare compared with the Elamite ones and “most [Akkadian texts] are only curses
against those who might tamper with dedicated works, as if such outrages could
come only from Mesopotamia.  .  .”. In my opinion, the fact that the curses warn-
ing those who intend to desecrate the monuments are in Akkadian even when the
inscription itself is mostly in Elamite, proves that Akkadian was still widely spoken in
certain parts of Susiana during the Igihalkid period. The curses were intended, in the
first place, to warn the local population in their vernacular. The practice of compos-
ing the curses in Akkadian even when the inscription itself is in Elamite is recorded
in Susiana as early as Puzur-­Inšušinak’s reign (c. 2100 BC, De Graef 2013: 267–268,
cf. Potts 2016: 113).

306
 — Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC —

An Elamite inscription was added by Šutruk-­Nahhunte I on a Babylonian bound-

ary stone (kudurru), containing his titles, as well as a damaged laconic statement of
his conquest of Babylonia (Paulus 2014: 422–423: MŠ 6). He had erased the inscrip-
tions on Mesopotamian votive gifts (explicitly of Maništušu originally) and replaced
them with his own votive inscription for his god Inšušinak (see Braun-­Holzinger
1991: 220, 222, cf. Paulus 2013: 439–440 with n. 109).

THE IGIHALKIDS ( 1 4 0 0 – 1 2 1 0 B C)
According to a passage of a historical epic embedded in the non-­contemporary source
of “Chronicle P”, Kurigalzu I, king of Babylonia (c. 1400, certainly before 1369 BC),
defeated king Hurba-­tila of Elam (Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2002–2003: 457, pace
Gassan 1986: 188, Elammat is not to be dissociated from Elam), who invaded Bab-
ylonia as far as the lower Diyāla basin (near Dūr-­Šulgi in the region of Ešnunna).
Kurigalzu I raided Susa and Elam as far as the border of Marhaši according to a frag-
mentary inscription on a statuette from Susa. This defeat coincides with the demise
of the Kidinuid rule. It may in fact be the reason for the emergence of the Igihalkid
dynasty, in which case the Igihalkids owe their rule to the Kassite dynasty of Babylo-
nia (see Fuchs 2011: 241–242). No wonder, then, that this was followed by a period
of intermarriage and cooperation between Kassite Babylonia and the Igihalkids. The
mutual relations between both kingdoms determined the fate of their dynasties. From
the depiction in “Chronicle P”, which is a non-­contemporary and eclectic source,
actually it is not clear whether the defeater of Hurba-­tila is Kurigalzu I or II (1327–
1303 BC). Paulus (2013: 442–444) suggests that it may be Kurigalzu II (see already
[Carter and] Stolper 1984: 35, 234) rather than Kurigalzu I, but this would place
Hurba-­tila within the reign of Untaš-­Napiriša (c. 1340–1300 BC).
Pahir-­Iššan (c. 1380–1370 BC) and his brother Attar-­kittah were sons of Igi-­halki.
The latter left an Akkadian inscription at Deh-­i Now in Susiana, where he dedicated
a temple to the goddess Mazzât (see Vallat 1980: 7). Vallat (1998: 308b) regards
Mazzât as an Anšanite deity. In fact, this goddess was popular in Susiana during the
Old Babylonian period.6 Attar-­kittah’s son, Humban-­numena I (c. 1370–1340 BC),
built a temple at Liyan. The relationship (if any) of the Šutrukids to the Igihalkids is
not known and cannot be proved (see Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2002–2003: 464, who
present the case for continuity). The fact that Šilhak-­Inšušinak I claims that Humban-­
numena I was a descendant of the early Sukkalmah Šilhaha may be of relevance here.
Given the long chronological gap, the claim is in all probability merely propagandis-
tic. It is analogous to that of the ruler of Sūhu in the mid-­8th century BC, who boasts
that he is a distant offspring (līpu rūqu) of Tunamissah “descendant of Hammurabi”
(see Cavigneaux and Ismail 1990: 328–329 ad 341, 411:1, 11–14). Humban-­numena
I’s son, Untaš-­Napiriša (c. 1340–1300 BC), built a new capital, Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša
(later Dūr-­Untaš), modern Chogha Zanbil, 40  km. southeast of Susa. The reasons
for the transfer of the capital from Susa are not known. At the beginning, Inšušinak
was the main deity there, but later on he was the second member of the divine pair
Napiriša and Inšušinak. The foundation of the temple city Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša was an
innovative project. This marks a change in the cult (see Álvarez-­Mon 2013a: 226–
227), but a certain continuity is remarkable. The Akkadian terminology persisted in
the latter half of the 2nd millennium BC, when the rulers of Elam started writing their

307
 — Ran Zadok —

inscriptions in Middle Elamite. One encounters Akkadian loanwords for sacred edi-
fices in Middle Elamite: kukunnu “ziqqurrat”, alimeli “acropolis” (where the temple
was located), (kumpum) kiduya “external chapel”. Is the lack of Elamite terminology
for certain sacred edifices due to the Elamite tradition of outdoor sanctuaries? It
should be remembered that shrines in OB Susa bore Sumero-­Akkadian names and
the terminology of sacred edifices was Akkadian. In addition, several temples in early
Susa were sponsored and renovated by Mesopotamian conquerors (notably Šulgi) as
well as by the princess Me-­Kūbi from Ešnunna (see Álvarez-­Mon 2013a: 221–222).
The Akkadian terms persisted, like that for “priest” pašīšu (lit. “anointed”, see Vallat
2003: 531, 541). Elamite inscriptions of Untaš-­Napiriša contain not only Akkadian
loanwords, but also such epithets.7 In addition, the Mesopotamian deities Dumuzi >
Damuzi, Bēlet-­āli, Belilit, Adad and Šala were worshipped in ME Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša.
Steve, Vallat and Gasche (2002–2003: 464–465) cautiously suggest that the Kassite
princesses who married Igihalkid kings introduced the cult of Mesopotamian deities
to Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša. However, it should not be forgotten that most of these deities
were worshipped in Susiana since the Sargonic, Ur III, OB and early MB (Kidinuid)
periods. The theonyms Ikišta and Šala are still recorded as theophorous elements in
anthroponyms from late ME Tall-­i Malyān.
Untaš-­Napiriša led construction projects in other sites of Susiana, as well as in
Huhnur (modern Tepe Bormi, see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2005).
It seems that the diplomatic marriages contributed to peaceful relations between
Elam and Babylonia at that time. Untaš-­Napiriša might have raided a certain region,
but its location is not clear as the relevant passage is damaged (the only name men-
tioned is [xxx]-˻li˼-ia-­šu);8 it is at most an isolated episode. There is no information
about activities and events in the time of Untaš-­Napiriša’s son, Unpahaš-­Napiriša, as
well as the kings who followed him, viz. Kitin-­Hutran II and Napiriša-­untaš.
Elamite archers are recorded at Harbê in the upper Jazira in the time of Tukulti-­
Ninurta I, king of Assyria (1243–1207 BC). It can be surmised that they were brought
there by this Assyrian conqueror of Babylonia as prisoners of war together with the Bab-
ylonians (“Kassites”), who are also recorded there at that time (see Jakob 2009: 17–18
and Zadok 2012: 575–576 with n. 47). In this case, it can be argued that the Elamites
were the Babylonians’ allies in their war against the Assyrian king. Given the fact that
the Igihalkids were related to the ruling dynasty of Babylonia, it is understandable why
they continued their struggle against the Assyrian rule over Babylonia. The Igihalkids
(like their Šutrukid successors, cf. below) in all probability considered themselves legiti-
mate heirs to the Babylonian crown after Babylonia had lost its independence. The last
Igihalkid, Kitin-­Hutran III, fought against Illil-­nādin-­šumi, the Babylonian king who was
Assyria’s vassal (1219 BC), from c. 1225 BC. He took Dēr and Nippur, and deposed Illil-­
nādin-­šumi. Later on, Kitin-­Hutran III attacked Adad-­šuma-­iddina (1217–1212 BC),
another king of Babylonia who was Assyria’s vassal. He conquered Isin and Marad
(west of Nippur). No Assyrian anti-­Elamite reaction is recorded, presumably because
Tukulti-­Ninurta I was murdered and Assyria entered a period of instability.
The glyptic of the later Igihalkids (after Untaš-­Napiriša) does not resemble that
of Kassite Babylonia, in contrast to that of their predecessors which was “pseudo-­
Kassite” in style (see Neumann 2013: 92–93, cf. McCarthy and Hill 2009: 304–308,
esp. 308). There is a restricted similarity between glyptic from mid-­2nd millennium
Iran (practically Elam) and Bahrein (see McCarthy and Hill 2009: 304–305).

308
 — Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC —

The intimate relations between the Kassite dynasty of Babylonia and Elam under
the Kidinuids, Igihalkids and Šutrukids facilitated the adoption of a basic notion of
Elamite royal ideology, viz. kitin (> Akkad. kidinnu) “divine protection, god-­given
royal power” (see Leemans 1946; CAD K: 342–344 with further lit.).

THE ŠUTRUKIDS (C . 1 2 1 0 – S O M E TIM E

AFTER 112 0   B C)
Hallutuš-­Inšušinak, father of Šutruk-­Nahhunte I and Šilhak-­Inšušinak I, did not leave
any inscriptions. His relationship to his predecessors is not recorded. It is not known
whether he was king. Šutruk-­Nahhunte I might have made Susa the capital again: he
brought to Susa a stele of Untaš-­Napiriša from Āl-­Untaš-­Napiriša9 and a stele of an
unknown king from Anšan (see [Carter and] Stolper 1984: 39). Inšušinak, the main
deity of Susa, was the titulary god of the Šutrukid dynasty; the sungod Nahhunte
also occupied a prominent place in the dynasty’s pantheon (cf., e.g., Šilhak-­Inšušinak
hu-­un-­te-­ek ba-­te-­ek dNah-­hu-­un-­te-­ek || ha-­ni-­ik dIn-­šu-­uš-­na-­ak-­[ki], “Š., subject of
Nahhunte, beloved of Inšušinak”, König 1965: 114: 48b, 2). Šilhak-­Inšušinak I reno-
vated 20 temples in Susiana (and possibly beyond it), including several sanctuaries of
Inšušinak (König 1965: 110–112: 48, for a list of temples in Susa see Potts 2016: 231).

Military campaigns in the west

Šutruk-­Nahhunte I controlled vast territories in Elam. The Šutrukids explicitly con-
sidered themeslves legitimate heirs to the Babylonian crown, according to the above-­
mentioned letter. Therefore, Šutruk-­Nahhunte I invaded Babylonia towards the end
of his reign. First, he took away the lower Diyāla basin (ME Išnunuk, perhaps a rem-
iniscence of the long extinct polity of early OB Ešnunna) from the Kassites. There-
after, Šutruk-­Nahhunte I defeated Zababa-­šuma-­iddina, the penultimate king of the
Kassite dynasty (in 1158 BC, see [Carter and] Stolper 1984: 40; Fuchs 2011: 255). In
the same year, the Assyrian king Aššur-­dan I exploited the opportunity and conquered
Zabban, Irrīya (Irrē'a) and Ugār-­Sallu (Grayson, Chronicles: 162:11). However, the
Assyrian territorial gains were ephemeral. Šutruk-­Nahhunte I’s son, Šilhak-­Inšušinak
I, conquered Ugār-­Sallu, Nuzi, Arrapha, Hapate (east of Nuzi) perhaps as far as the
banks of the Little Zab (see Potts 2016: 233–2238) implicitly from the Assyrians.
A partial itinerary can be composed on the basis of three unpublished inscriptions
of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I: Māt-­Irrīya10 → Lubdu → Ugār-­Sallu → Pilasqu (ME ašPi-­la-­
as-­ka4 pu-­ul-­ku, see Vallat 1993: 217, s.v. Pilazkapulku). Accordingly, the Elamite
king advanced from south to north. In Fuchs’s opinion, the Diyāla basin remained
under Elamite control in the time of Kutir-­Nahhunte, Šutruk-­Nahhunte I’s son and
successor. It served as a springboard for the conquest of the rest of Babylonia by
Kutir-­Nahhunte’s brother and successor, Šilhak-­Inšušinak I.
Šutruk-­Nahhunte I’s son, Kutir-­Nahhunte (1155–1150 BC), deposed and deported
to Elam the last king of the Kassite dynasty, Illil-­nādin-­ahi (1157–1155 BC). His
brother, Šilhak-­Inšušinak I (1150–1120 BC), conquered 15 regions (A-O below) with
at least 211 settlements, not only in eastern Babylonia but also in the hill country
between Babylonia and Assyria in the northeast, where he annexed territory con-
quered earlier by Assyria from Babylonia. The list of these numerous settlements is

309
 — Ran Zadok —

embedded in a royal inscription (König 1965: 128–130:54: §§25, 27, 29, 32, 35, 37,
40, 43, 45, 47, 50, 52, 55, 58, 61). Each paragraph consists of a list of locales and a
statement about setting a total number of si-­i-­la (meaning unclear, König 1965: 127ff.
translated it as “district” whereas Hinz and Koch 1987: 1072 rendered it as “statue”)
and the installment of a governor in an administrative centre. Unfortunately, this
statement is severely damaged in most paragraphs. Likewise, the names of most set-
tlements (133 out of 211 = 63.03%) are either entirely broken or severely damaged;
only 78 toponyms (36.97%) are fully preserved or slightly damaged. Each of the 15
paragraphs is preceded by a prayer. A detailed annotated chart with identifications is
offered by Potts (2016: 235–238). The following list is based on it:

A (§25)
1. [. . .]; 2. [. . .]-tu4; 3. Bīt ([aš]pi-­it)-[. . .]; 4. [. . .]; 5. [. . .]-a-­ti; 6. [. . .].
B (§27, Ugār-­Sallu and Ebeh: Ú-ka4-ar-­si-­il-­la-­am-­ni E-pe-­eh)
1. [. . .]-e-­a; 2. [. . .]-un-­nu; 3. Ša-­Šilitu (ašša-­ši-­li-­tu4); perhaps it is based on Kass.
šil-­(cf. Balkan 1954: 81 and Hölscher 1996: 209a, s.v. Šili); 4. [. . .];
5. ašŠa-­Pe-­el-­[. . .]; 6. [B]īt ([ašp]i-­it)-Pu-­li-­[. . .].
C (§29)
1. [. . .]-ri; 2. aš[. . .]; 3. [. . .]; 4. Šenkuru (ašše-­en-­ku-­ru); it is not identical with
Zi-­ni-­ki-­ri (pace Scheil, MDP 23 164); for še-­en-­ cf. perhaps Kass. PN Šen-­
Sah and for -ku-­ru Kass. kuri (Balkan 1954: 66, 80); 5. ašŠa-­[. . .]; 6. [. . .];
7. [Bīt-­Nap]pāhē ([ašpi-­it Na-­a]p-­pa-­hi-­e), Akkad.; perhaps = halzi Nappāhī
in the Nuzi region (Fincke 1993: 182, cf. Potts 2016: 235); 8. ašKu-­ur-­[. . .];
9. [. . .]; 10. Ša-­immerē (ašša-­i-­mi-­ri-­e) “(the place) of the asses”, Akkad.; the iden-
tification with Imēri in the Nuzi region (Fincke 1993: 117) is unlikely as the
latter is in the singular form; 11. ašH[a-­ . . .]; 12. [. . .]; 13. [. . .]-ki-­te-­ek-­ku;
14. aš[. . .]; 15. [. . .]; 16. [Bī]t-­n[ā]giri ([ašpi-­i]t-­n[a]-ki-­ru, Akkad.); 17. ašŠa-­
[. . .]; 18. [. . .]; 19. [Bīt?-P]ilantu ([ašpi-­it?-p]i-­l[a]-an-­tu4), Kassite (see Balkan
1954: 76, 92); 20. aš[. . .]; 21. [. . .].
D (§32)
1. Ša-­barbari (ašša-­ba-­ar-­ba-­ri) “(the place) of the wolf” (or “of B.”, cf. Hölscher
1996: 47a, s.v. Barbaru, Akkad.); 2. ašŠa-­al-­ta-­[. . .]; 3. ašŠa mx-­[. . .] namkari
(na-­an-­ka4-ri), Akkad. “irrigation canal”; 4. [. . .]; 5. Bī[t-­..] (ašpi-­i[t-­. . .]); 6.
Bī[t-­. . .] ([aš]pi-­[it-­. . .]; 7–8. 2 ašŠa-­[. . .]; 9. [. . .].
E (§35)
1. Sillam (ašsi-­el-­la-­a[m], pace Frayne 1992: 56, not Tall as-­Slēma which is in all
probability Awal); 2. [. . .]; 3. Bīt-­[DN] (ašpi-­it-­d[. . .]); 4. Dunnu ([aš]tu4-un-­ni),
Akkad. dunnu “fort, fortified area”; 5. ašAr-­ti-­[. . .]; 6. Bīt(ašpi-­it)- [ . . . -a]
r-­ri-­ka4; 7. ašŠa-­Pu-­uh-­[. . .]; 8. [aš]Ša-­m[. . .]; 9. Matku (ašma-­at-­ku)-[. . .]; 10.
[. . .]; 11. [. . .]-pi-­ši-­[. . .]; 12. ašŠa-­Si-­[. . .]; 13. [. . .]; 14. Bīt-­Sîn-­erība (ašpi-­it-­
d
XXX-i-­ri-­ba, Akkad., cf. Hölscher 1996: 187a); 15. [. . .]; 16. Bīt-­Kadašman
([aš]pi-­it-­ka4-ta-­áš-­ma-­an, Kass., see Balkan 1954: 92), possibly in the Trans-
tigridian region (see Brinkman 1968: 258, n. 1641).
310
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F (§37)
1. Ašuhaš (aša?-šu-­ha-­áš) – perhaps Ašūhiš of MB Nuzi (see Potts 2016: 234–235;
south of Arrapha, see Fincke 1993: 57–58 with lit.); 2. Bīt-­Lassi? (ašpi-­it-­la-­
as-­si-­i?); 3. [ašŠ]a-­[.  .  .]; 4. [Bī]t-­Sîn-­šemi ([ašpi-­i]t-­dXXX-še-­mi, Akkad., cf.
Hölscher 1996: 192a); 5. Bīt-­etellē (ašpi-­it-­e-­te-­el-­li-­e) “the place of princes,
lords” (Akkad.); 6. [ . . . -š]a?-a-­a; 7. Matka (ašma-­at-­ka4 = ~ (˹Ma˺-at-­qa)
of MB Nuzi (see Vallat 1993: 179–180). Heimpel (2009: 28), who identi-
fies Matka (Ur III Madga) with Hīt (cf. Zadok 2014b), states that Madga
is not recorded after the Ur III period. He does not take into account the
occurrence of Matka in the Nuzi corpus and in the inscription of Šilhak-­
Inšušinak I. MB/ME Matka may be located near modern Kifri or Tāze Ḫur-
matli (on the ʿAḍēm river). The distance from Umma to the Kifri region is
only slightly more than that from Umma to Hīt. Madga-­bound boats (see
the thorough discussion of Heimpel 2009: 33, n. 16; 35–36 and passim)
could have reached Matka, which was situated near a river and a canal (see
Fincke 1993: 176). Gudea imported from Madga not only bitumen but also
limestone and gypsum, materials which are found in the hill country around
Kirkuk. The Sumerians brought dates to Madga, fruits which are not com-
mercially grown in that hill country. 8. Ša(-)Hāla (ašša-­ha-­a-­la), tentatively
Šehala of MB Nuzi (see Potts 2016: 234, the forms are different); cf. the
Kassite theonym Hala = Gula, which is recorded as a theophorous element
(Balkan 1954: 106, cf. 47); 9. Appi-­šinipeti (ašap-­pi-­ši-­ni-­pe-­ti) apparently
contains Akkad. šinipeti “two-­thirds”; the initial component is appu “spur of
land (made artificially), causeway, bund” (CAD B: 189, s.v. appu A, 3, where
the measures of these earthworks are indicated); 10. Ša-­Arad-­ekalli (ašša-­
ARAD-e-­gal-­li, Akkad.) is not identical with Ekalli near Nuzi (cautiously
suggested by Potts 2016: 236); 11. Kiprat (aški-­ip-­ra-­at) “Kipri near Nuzi
(Fincke 1993: 146–147)?” (Potts 2016: 234). However, the ending (-at) is
different.
G (§40)
Administrative centre: 1. [. . .]-til-­la, perhaps Ithi-­tilla (Fincke 1993: 125). The
latter was linked to Āl-­ilāni = Arrapha (see Zaccagnini 1979: 164). It appar-
ently ends with Hurr. -tilla (cf. Gelb et  al. 1943: 267, like the toponyms
Iriri-­tilla and Tupki-­tilla (Fincke 1993: 124, 301–302). Tilla was a fortified
town and one of the cultic centres of the district of Arrapha (see Fincke 1993:
293–294); 2. Arrapha (ašar-­ra-­ap-­ha); 3–4. Nuzi (2 ašnu-­ú-­za) – It is probably
implied here that this important town consists of two sections. In fact, Nuzi
and Anzukalli formed one administrative unit (see Fincke 1993: 199); 5.
. [. . .]; 6. [. . . .]; 7. Hapate (ašha-­an-­ba-­te-­e); 8. ašTi-­tu?-[. . .]; 9. [. . .]; 10.
aš d

Ša-­nišē (ašša-­ni-­še-­e) should be differentiated from MB Nuzi Šinišhe (differ-

ently Potts 2016: 236).
H (§43)
1. [. . .]; 2. [. . .]; 3. [. . .]; 4. [. . .]; 5. [. . .]; 6. [. . .]; 7. [. . .]; 8. aš.d[. . .]; 9. [. . .];
10. [aš]xx-­ba-­[x]-hi; 11. ašŠa-­[.  .  .]; 12. [.  .  .]; 13. Dunnâtu (aštu4-un-­na-­ti),
presumably “inferior quality” (NB); 14. [. . .]; 15. [. . .]; 16. [Š]a-­Hanta ([ašš]
311
 — Ran Zadok —

a-­ha-­an-­ta, non-­Sem., cf. Gelb et al. 1943: 213b, s.v. hanta); 17. Bī[t-­..] (ašpi-­
i[t-­ .  .  .]); 18. [.  .  .]; 19. [Bī]t-­rē'ê rabû ([ašpi-­i]t-­ri-­e-­ra-­rap-­pi), i.e. “Great
Bīt-­rē'ê” implying the existence of a settlement Bīt-­rē'ê ṣehru “Little Bīt-­rē'ê”
(cf. below, I, 12–13).
I (§45)
1. Bīt-­Bahê (ašpi-­ it-­
ba-­hi-­
e), cf. Hölscher 1996: 43–44, s.v. Bahû; 2. ašŠa-­Ku-­
uš-­[. . .]; 3. [. . .]; 4. Ša-­Burna-­mašhum (ašša-­bu-­ur-­na-­ma-­áš-­hu-­um, Kass.,
see Balkan 1954: 99; Akkadianized form of Burna-­mašhu > Burra-­mašhu,
cf. Hölscher 1996: 57a); 5. ašMa-­[. . .]; 6. [Bīt?-I]štar ([ašpi-­it?-i]š-­tar) is not
necessarily identical with Bīt-­Ištar in the Zagros (pace König 1965: 128, n.
7 ad loc.); 7. Hurātu (ašhu-­ra-­tu4), perhaps Akkad. (cf. Ahw.: 358a); 8. Iširtu
ša Adad (aši-­ši-­ir-­tu4 ša dIM x) “sanctuary of Adad” or “decury of Adad-­x”
(Akkad.); 9. [. . .]; 10. Ša-­Anpima (ašša-­an-­pi-­ma), perhaps < *Appi-­ma with
dissimilation of appu; 11. Hurāt (ašhu-­ra-­at)-dŠa-­ri-­e-­GUD? (cf. 7 above?);
12. [Bīt-­ri]dûti rabû ([ašpi-­it-­ri]-tu4-ti GAL), “residence of the crown prince;
administrative centre”, Akkad.; originally a royal estate (the great and the
little one are juxtaposed, 13 below, cf. CAD R: 328a, s.v. ridûtu in bīt ~, c);
13. Bīt-­ridûti ṣehru (ašpi-­it-­ri-­tu4-ti TIM); 14. [Ki]tin?-Sîn ([aški?]-te-­en-­dXXX),
cf. Hölscher 1996: 122–1123, s.v. Kidin-­Sîn (with an the Elamite predicative
element borrowed in Akkadian); 15. Bīt (ašpi-­it)-It-­ta-­[tu?];
16. Rēšu (ašri-­e-­šu) “top, summit” (Akkad.); 17. Bīt-­Rigim-­Adad ([aš]p[i-­i]t-­ri-­ki-­
im-­dIM, cf. Hölscher 1996: 177b, s.v., Akkad.); 18–19. Bīt-­Muqīya (2 ašpi-­it-­
mu-­gi-­ia), Akkad.
J (§47, Turun Ebeh)
administrative centre: Alman  =  Halman, Medieval (Classical Arab.) Ḥulwān,
modern Sarpol Zohāb, on a tributary of the Diyāla (= Turun), southeast of
Jabal Ḥamrīn (= Ebeh, see Nashef 1982a: 15, 115). ašHa-­al-­ma-­an is recorded
in another inscription of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I, which also lists [aš]Uš-­mar-­ma-­
za-­ah (apparently with Kass. – Sah) as well as ašPi-­it (= Bīt) Pu-­ul-­zu-­šu and
aš
Li-­ip-­tu4 (Akkad. “craft creation” or a variant of laptu “turnip”, König
1965: 133: 54b: 1, 4, cf. CAD L: 200–202, s.vv. liptu A, B, the latter was
eaten together with su-­un-­gi-­ra, which looks like an originally Elamite phy-
tonym, viz. sunki-­r; for the naming cf. Gk. βασιλικόν “basil, ocimum basili-
cum”, but this does not prove that sungira is the same plant as basil).
K (§50)
1. Nahiš-­bararē (ašna-­hi-­iš-­ba-­ra-­ri-­e), the initial component is perhaps either
Akkad. nahiš-­or < Kass. nahzi (cf. Hölscher 1996: 146); 2. ašBa-­ta-­s[i-­ . . .];
3. [. . .]-ša; 4. Ša-­Hilik (ašša-­hi-­li-­ik); 5. Ša-­Pālihu (ašša-­ba-­li-­hu), cf. Hölscher 1996:
166a, s.v. Pālihu, Akkad.); 6. ašMa-­an-­[. . .]; 7. [Mu]rattaš ([ašmu]-ra-­at-­taš,
Kass., see Balkan 1954: 98); 8. Dunnu (ašdu-­un-­nu), Akkad. (cf. E, 4 above);
9. Bīt-­Uzāl[i?] (ašpi-­it-­ú-­za-­l[i?-  .  .  .]), perhaps Akkad. (cf. Hölscher 1996:
233a, s.v. Uzālu); 10. Bīt-­Hānibi (ašpi-­it-­ha-­ni-­pi), cf. Hölscher 1996: 80–81,
s.v. Hānibu, Akkad.; 11. Ša-­Kūbīya (ašša-­ku-­pi-­ia) contains a hypocoristicon
of Akkad. kūbu(m), cf. Kūbu-­illassu, -īriš (Hölscher 1996: 125b); 12–14.

312
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Bītāti (3 ašpi-­ta-­ti) [ša. . .] “households” (Akkad.), apparently three conglom-

erates of (Kassite?) kin-­based groups; 15. [ašx-­š]i-­il-­ba; 16. Bīt-­Nagīya (ašpi-­
it-­na-­gi-­ia), probably to Akkad. nagû, cf. Nagutu /Nāgûtu/ (Hölscher 1996:
145b); 17. Ša-­Kattar-­Sah (ašša-­ka4-at-­tar-­za-­ah, Kass., see Balkan 1954: 99);
18. [. . .]; 19. [Duh]ub/puna? ([ašdu?-h]u-­b/pu-­na) has nothing to do with NA
Di'bīna (cf. Vallat 1993: 58 with lit.); 20. Ana-­hutaš (aša-­na-­ah-­hu-­taš, Elam.,
see Zadok 1984: 6:11; 14:56); 21. Bīt-­Sîn-­išmanni (ašpi-­it-­dXXX-iš-­man-­ni),
Akkad. (cf. Hölscher 1996: 189a); 22. [B]īt-­Silīya (aš[pi]-it-­si-­li-­ia), probably
Hurrian (cf. Hölscher 1996: 184a, s.vv. Sili, Sil-­Tešub); 23. Ša-­sahmi (ašša-­
za-­ah-­mi), cf. Akkad. sahmu “crushed?” and as a topographic term at Nuzi
(CAD S: 66); 24. Bīt-­Ša-­ilti (ašpi-­it-­ša-­il-­ti(-[.  .  .]), if complete, cf. Akkad.
anthroponym Ša-­ilti (Hölscher 1996: 200b); 25. [Bī]t-­Hubbani ([ašpi-­i]t-­hu-­
up-­ba-­ni < Elam. theonym Humban (cf. Zadok 1984: 11–13:48); 26. Ša-­
Marazza (ašša-­mar-­az-­za).
L (§52)
1. ašŠa-­Ik-­la-­x?-a-­i; 2. Ša-­Šangibar[i] (ašša-­ša-­an-­gi-­ba-­r[i]), non-­Sem.; 3. Dimti-­Ili-­
ēriš ([ašti-­i]n-­tu4-i-­li-­e-­ri-­iš), Akkad. (cf. below, 6 and Hölscher 1996: 93b, s.v.
Ili-­ēriš); 4. Bīt-­Matimu (ašpi-­it-­ma-­ti-­mu); 5. [Bī]t-­Lā-­qīpu ([ašpi-­i]t-­la-­ki-­pu),
Akkad. (cf. Hölscher 1996: 131a, s.v.); 6. Dimtu (ašti-­in-­tu4), “watch-­tower,
fortified dwelling”, Akkad.; 7. Bīt-­Rigim-­Adad (cf. I,17 above); 8. [. . .]za-­
hu-­ka4; 9. Bīt-­Tamtīya (ašpi-­it-­ta-­am-­te-­ia); Tamtīya may be based on Kass.
Tamd/t-­ (cf. Balkan 1954: 83 and Hölscher 1996: 217a, s.v. Tamti-­Ištarān);
10–12. Harbātu (3 ašha-­ar-­ba-­tu4) “deserted, abandoned lands” (Akkad.); 13.
[ašxx]-ur-­ku-­up-­pu-­uh-­ti; 14. Bīt-­Šumaliya (ašpi-­it-­na-­<ap>šu-­ma-­li-­ia), contains
the Kassite theonym Šumaliya (see Balkan 1954: 92); 15. [. . .]-x-­lu-­e; 16. Bīt-­
Tasak-­šarri (ašpi-­it-­ta-­sak-­LUGÀL); 17. Bīt(aš . . .)-Iš-­ši-­h[u(-). . .]; 18. [. . .]-ti;
19. Ša-­Burra-­hutta (ašša-­bu-­ur-­ra-­hu-­ut-­ta), apparently hybrid, Kass., burra-­
< burna-­(see Balkan 1954: 99) and Elam. -hutta (Zadok 1984: 14:56); 20.
aš
Uz-­z[i-­. . .]; 21. [. . .-i]k; 22. Bīt-­Barbari (ašpi-­it-­ba-­ar-­ba-­ri), “wolf’s place”
(or “B.’s place”, Akkad., cf. above, D, 1); 23. [. . .]-ia; 24. ašURU?-ka4-ap-­lu
(kaplu is perhaps Hurrian, cf. Richter 2016: 151).
M (§55)
Administrative centre: 1. [ašxx-­l]i-­li-­ir-­ka4-at-­tar; it apparently ends in Kass. katar
(cf. Balkan 1954: 63, 98, 159; for the spelling cf. Ka4-at-­tar-­za-­ah, above, K,
17); 2. [Bīt-­K]ilala ([ašpi-­it-­k]i-­la-­la); 3. ašZa-­ka4-[. . .]; 4. [. . .]-tu4 š[a..]; 5. [Bī]
t-­Naggāri ([ašpi-­i]t-­na-­an-­ga-­ri, Akkad.); 6. Bī[t-­. . .]x[. . .] (ašpi-­i[t-­. . .] URU?
[. . .]); 7. [ašx]-šil-­ti, cf. perhaps Hurr. šelt (Gelb et al. 1943: 255a); 8. Dan-­
silam (ašta-­an-­si-­la-­am); 9. aš[. . .-t]u4-ka4-ar-­[. . .]; 10. [Bīt?]-Kanbateya ([ašx]-
ka4-an-­ba-­te-­ia), kan +b/pat (Kass.?); 11. Bīt(ašpi-­it)-Š[i-­. . .]; 12. ašŠa-­[. . .];
13. Bīt-­Kunzubati (ašpi-­it-­ku-­un-­zu-­ba-­ti), Kass.? (for kunzi see Richter 2016:
447 with n. 461, who quotes Jaritz 1957: 878 and for -bati Balkan 1954: 98
ad Kilam-­bate); 14. ašA-ta-­[. . .]-ap-­n[a-­. . .]; 15. Puhutu (ašpu-­hu-­tu) may be
a hypocoristicon of a compound anthroponym with Akkad. pūhu “substi-
tute”; 16. Nakapu (ašna-­ka4-pu) is probably the same place as OB uruNa-­ka-­b/
pu-­um (Abdi and Beckman 2007: 55–56, 81: 20, i, 10’), cf. perhaps Akkad.

313
 — Ran Zadok —

naga/āb/pu, nakāpu A, B (CAD N/1: 105, 156–1159) and NA Nakkapu

(extant in the gentilic Nak-­kap-­A+A), which is mentioned together with Bīt-­
Sangibuti and according to Streck (1998–2001) was perhaps located in the
Zagros; 17. ašZa-­al-­l[a-­. . .]; cf. perhaps Za-­al-­liki, which is mentioned in the
same document as Na-­ka-­b/pu-­um (Abdi and Beckman 2007: 55–56, 81:
20, i, 16); (18. ašKi-­x-­šu; 19. Bīt-­rāpiqi ([aš]pi-­it-­ra-­ap-­i-­ku(-[. . .])) is hardly
identical with Rāpiqu in northwestern Babylonia (cf. Brinkman 1968: 127,
n. 748; Vallat 1993: 47 with lit.); rāpiqu is an active participle of rapāqu “to
hoe, break up the (uncultivated) soil, dig up (weeds)”. The verb is recorded
in OB and MB (CAD R: 150) and hence it can potentially produce toponyms
in 2nd millennium Babylonia, in which case a quasi-­homonym of the town
in northwestern Babylonia might have existed in northeastern Babylonia.
N (§58)
1. Kitan (aški-­ta-­an) is very probably identical with OB uruKi-­da-­anki, which is
mentioned in an administrative document from Chogha Gavaneh (Abdi and
Beckman 2007: 55–56, 81: 20, i, 8), two lines before uruNa-­ka-­b/pu-­um (N, 16
above), cf. the UR III ruler’s name Ki-­da-­ni lú-­Ša-­rí-­it-­hu-­umki (= Šuruthum,
Šariphum and perhaps lú-­Ša-­ri-­it-­tu20(DÙ)ki, Edzard and Farber 1974: 177–
178, 187, s.v. Šuruthum, cf. Sigrist 2000, 1163, 7) near Šašrum = Šušarra,
modern Šemšarra, in the piedmont of the central Zagros. Šu-­ru-­ut-­hi-­im is
recorded in a document from OB Šemšarra (Eidem and Laessoe 2001, 41, 4’)
and is extant in ašNi-­ri-­pu-­ni Šu-­ru-­tu4-ha (< Akkad. *Nērebu ša Šuruthi “the
pass of Š.”), which is mentioned in another inscription of Šilhak-­Inšušinak
I;11 2. aš[. . .]; 3. Nār-­[Si]llam ([aš]na-­ar-­[si-­i]l-­la-­am); 4. aš[. . .]; 5. Bī[t-­x]hatu
(ašpi-­i[t-­x]-ha-­tu4); 6. ašNa-­[. . .]; 7. Bīt-­[DN]-napšira (ašpi-­i[t-­dx]-na-­ap-­ši-­ra),
Akkad. (cf. Nusku-­, Sîn-­ and Šamaš-­napšira, Hölscher 1996: 164b, 191,
204a); 8. [. . .]; 9. Bīt-­Ummašap (ašp[i-­i]t-­um?/URU?-ma-­ša-­ap); 10. aš[. . .];
11–12. 2 aš[. . .]; 13. Harab/p (ašha-­ra-­AB);
14. aš[.  .  .]; 15. Bīt-­[I]qīš?-Adad (ašpi-­it-­[i?]-kiš-­dIM), Akkad., cf. Iqīša-­Adad
(Hölscher 1996: 104–105); 16. [.  .  .]; 17. Bīt-­[A]murri? (ašpi-­i[t-­a?]-mu-­
ur-­ri); perhaps Akkad. (for MB Amurru-­names cf. Hölscher 1996: 30–31);
18. [. . .]; 19. Bī[t-­K]ilak[. . .] (ašpi-­i[t-­k]i-­la-­ak-­[. . .]), perhaps Elam. -kilak
(cf. Zadok 1984: 20: 97b).
O (§61)
Administrative centre: 1. ašŠ[i-­. . .]); 2. [. . .]; 3. Kulāna (ašku-­la-­a-­na); 4. [. . .];
5. Bīt ([aš]pi-­it)-[. . .]; 6. [. . .]; 7. Bī[t-­. . .] ([aš]pi-­i[t-­. . .]).

Regarding linguistic affiliation (with various degrees of plausibility), 43 out of 78

(55.12%) toponyms are purely Akkadian, but most of the 35 remaining ones are
hybrid, as they begin with Akkad. bīt or ša. An additional toponym is probably Akka-
dian with a non-­Semitic suffix (F, 1) due to linguistic interference. The homonymous
settlements (E, 4, K, 8 and J, 17, L, 7) are Akkadian. The second largest group is Kas-
site, but with just 12–14 toponyms (17.94–15.38%) it lags far behind the Akkadian
group. Moreover, only three toponyms (3.84%) are purely Kassite (C, 4, K, 7 and M,
1). The remainder are hybrid, as they begin with Akkad. bīt-­or ša-­(B, 3, C, 19, E, 16,

314
 — Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC —

F, 8, I, 4, K, 17, L, 9, 14, M, 13). One toponym is either Akkadian or Kassite (K, 1),
and another one is hybrid Kassite-­Elamite (with Akkad. ša-­, L, 19). Four toponyms
(5.12%) are Hurrian (G, 1, L, 24, M, 7; K, 22 is hybrid with Akkad. bīt-­). Three
toponyms (3.84%) are Elamite, but only one (K, 20) is purely such, whereas the
remaining two are hybrid (with Akkad. bīt-­, K, 25, N, 19). Two toponyms (2.56%)
are non-­Semitic, but their specific affiliation cannot be established; both are hybrid
(with Akkad. ša-­, H, 16, L. 1). Eleven toponyms (14.1%) are unexplained: one begins
with Akkad. bīt-­(F, 2). Two or three contain the same component (sillam, E, 1, M, 8
and perhaps N/ 3; the remaining ones are F, 7, G, 2–4, L, 16, N, 1 and O, 3).
The fragmentary itinerary quoted above leaves no doubt that Šilhak-­Inšušinak
I advanced from south (the Diyāla basin) to north (the Babylonian hill country south
of the Little Zab). However, the preserved regions of the long list seem to be arranged
not from south to north but from north to south (possibly not without deviations; A,
which is severely damaged, is left out):
B: Ugār-­Sallu and Ebeh; C: Nuzi region? (Bīt-­nappāhī), F: Nuzi region (Matka and
Ašuhaš), G: Nuzi and Arrapha (with very few Hurrian and Hurrianized toponyms;
residual Hurrian toponyms are also recorded in K, L and M), J: Alman (Ḥulwān);
K has two Elamite toponyms and L contains dimtu-­toponyms, while N has one
Elamite toponym. The occurrence of at least two toponyms (M,16 and N, 1), which
are identical with settlements mentioned in the OB archive from Chogha Gavaneh,
strengthens the case for locating the locales of M and N in or near Namri (southwest
of Kermanshah, cf. Potts 2016: 234 with lit.). Dimtu-­toponyms are recorded not
only in Babylonia (OB, MB), but also in OB Susiana and in Rāši (during the Sargonid
period). It stands to reason that the numerous toponyms in K-N refer to settlements
in the Diyāla basin, the Zagros piedmont and Rāši. Hybrid names (Elamite preceded
by Akkad. bīt-­or ša-­) are found in Susiana as well (see Vallat 1993: cxxxvi). On the
whole, most of the anthroponyms contained in the toponyms of the type bīt-­/ša-­PN
are current in MB Babylonia (cf. the many references to the corpus of Hölscher 1996
above, passim). It stands to reason that they refer to relatively recent foundations or
ephemeral settlements.
A campaign is recorded in a ME royal inscription, where the ruler’s name is entirely
broken (restored as either Šutruk-­Nahhunte or Šilhak-­Inšušinak). ašHu-­us-­si-­[.  .  .],
which is mentioned after the Tigris and before the Euphrates, is not necessarily iden-
tical with MB Huṣṣu of Nebuchadnezzar I as suggested by König (1965: 134, n. 10
ad 55, see Potts 2016: 238, cf. below) but could be a compound toponym in view
of the break. It cannot be proven that ašNi-­me-­et-­tu4 Mar-­tu4-uk (< Akkad. Nēmetti-­
Marduk, cf. NA Né-­met-­ti-­šarri (MAN), somewhere between Gananati and Dēr,
Grayson 1996: 190: Šamši-­Adad V A.0.103.2, iii, 30’), which is mentioned after the
Euphrates, is identical with Nippur. This fragmentary inscription can be compared
with unpublished inscriptions of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I, which record his conquests in
the Diyāla basin and adjacent regions, viz. Akkad (ašak-­ka4-tu4), Ša-­B/Pahuti (ašša pá-­
hu-­ti), Māt-­Irrīya (ašma-­at ir-­ri-­ia) and further north (Vallat 1993: 5, 179, 250, s.vv.
Agade, Mat-­Irriya and Ša Pahuti, cf. the reconstructed itinerary above). There is no
evidence for diplomatic marriages after Šutruk-­Nahhunte I (see Steve, Vallat and
Gasche 2002–2003: 464). It seems that the later Šutrukids reverted to endogamy
because of their negative experience with their ruling Kassite relatives. Their mili-
tary encounters intensified after Šutruk-­Nahhunte I’s attempt to persuade the Kassite

315
 — Ran Zadok —

monarchs that he was the legitimate heir to the Babylonian crown. This turning point
marks the end of the age of international connections in the Babylonian-­Elamite
arena, several decades after this age terminated in the western Fertile Crescent and
the Eastern Mediterranean.
Šutruk-­Nahhunte I renovated a temple of Kamul (see Kozuh 2014: 138–139), who
is in all probability originally a Kassite deity, presumably the deified Mount Kamulla,
which was perhaps situated south or southeast of the Radanu river near the Diyāla
basin (see Nashef 1982a: 148). His cult might have been introduced to Elam by a
Kassite princess. The monumental art of the period of the Šutrukid conquerors is
characterized by creative genius (see Álvarez-­Mon 2013b: 221–225).
A vague echo of the intensive Elamite incursions into Babylonia is recorded in a
MB omen with no specific date, containing the statement “The Elamites (lit. “Elam”,
NIM.MAki) will be in the interior, midst of my land” (Heessel 2012, 86, rev. 3, 4, cf.
13–15, rev. 21–23: “Elam will attack me”).
The coup of Marduk-­kabit-­ahhēšu (1150–1140 BC), the founder of the 2nd Isin
dynasty, was supported by Elam, but his successor, Itti-­Marduk-­balāṭu (1139–1132
BC), ignored the Elamite rule (see Fuchs 2011: 256). Hutelutuš-­Inšušinak, son of
Šilhak-­Inšušinak I, was defeated by Nebuchadnezzar I (1125–1104 BC) in about
1120 BC (see Fuchs 2011: 256). The latter reached Dēr and conquered Susa, con-
trolling it for some time. He also controlled parts of the Zagros. The Elamite king
fled, probably to Anšan (see Potts 2016: 244–245, cf. Paulus 2014: 509 with n. 17),
marking the end of Elam’s involvement in Babylonian politics. Thereafter the con-
flicts were between Babylonia and Assyria.
A donation of plots of land in Huṣṣu and several other places to the deity Eriya
from the city of Di-­in-­LUGAL in Susiana is recorded on a boundary stone.12 The
priests of this deity, viz. Šamāya and his father Šamû’a, descendants of Nūru-­līšir (<
Ninurta?-~), had fled from Elam to Babylonia and later joined Nebuchadnezzar I on
his campaign against Elam from which the Babylonian conqueror brought the statues
of Marduk and Eriya to Babylon. Thereafter, Nebuchadnezzar I transferred the statue
of Eriya to Huṣṣu. It may be a case of remuneration to important collaborators from
Susiana by Nebuchadnezzar I.
Hutelutuš-­Inšušinak had a brother, Šilhina-­hamru-­Lakamar (see Vallat 1999: 5,
14). It is not known when the rule of the Šutrukid dynasty came to an end. For three
or four kings, who ruled over Anšan (if not beyond it) around 1000 BC, see Stolper
(2013, especially 404). One Babylonian king, Mār-­bīti-­ahhē-­iddina (984–979 BC),
who was related neither to the preceding nor to the following dynasty, was of Elamite
extraction. A much later intervention occurred only in 814 BC, when the Elamites
supported Babylonia against Assyria (see Brinkman 1968: 165–166, 209).

ELAMITES IN BAB YL O NIA

Some individuals in the rich MB documentation from Nippur are defined as Elamites
or bear Elamite anthroponyms (including hybrid names, see Zadok 1987: 13–16;
1991: 230:138–142; hybrid names: 140, 142, cf. 1994: 47a). These Elamites are
recorded at Nippur and its region when Elam was dominated by the Igihalkids. The
netherworld deities Šimūt and Napiriša are recorded as theophorous elements in
most of them (references are to Sassmannshausen 2001):

316
 — Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC —

Ki-­din-­na-­wi-­ir-­ša, -na-­mi-­ir-­ša (=Napirša, 31, 20 and 55, 59, respectively, Kur.

6); Si-­mu-­ut-­AN-da-­áš (1, 9, Bur. 25); dSi-­mu-­ut-­GAL (100, 4, Naz. 24; kurRa-­ši is
mentioned in the same text, line 10); dSi-­mu-­ut-­na-­pi-­ir (302, ii, 9, Naz. 10); and
d
Si-­mu-­ut-­aha-­iddina (ŠEŠ-SUMna, 77, 4, 11, Kur. 10). See Sassmannshausen 2001:
133. Kiri-­r is the theophorous element of Ki-­ri-­ru-­du-­uk (with  – utuk, cf. Zadok
1984:20:103a, 47:282). Su-­gi-­ir-­pu-­(un-­)ni, Su-­ùg-­ir-­pu-­ni fulfilled an important
administrative function (see van Soldt 2015: 27–28).
No Elamites are mentioned in MB documents from the Ḥamrīn basin. However,
the material culture, especially the fine pottery, from Tall Yalḫi in the Ḥamrīn basin
shows greater affinity to Susiana as well as to Rāši, the adjacent regions of the Tran-
stigridian corridor and the southern Zagros, than to that of the Mitanni-­controlled
region to the north during the period under discussion (see Oselini 2016: 36–38). The
glyptic from the Ḥamrīn basin betrays Elamite influence to some extent (see Boehmer
and Dämmer 1985: 73). Elamites are not recorded in the documentation from MB
Ur, whereas in the preceding (late OB) period they are amply attested in the recently
discovered texts from Tall Ḫēbar northwest of Ur13 (together with Tilmunites and
Kassites).14 Elamite animal vessels (Tiergefässe) were found in Ur under the Kurigalzu
layer (see Börker-­Klähn 1970: 68ff. and Braun-­Holzinger 1991: 111).

NOTE S
1 Abbreviations are as in A. L. Oppenheim et  al. (eds.) The Assyrian Dictionary of the
Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (Chicago-­Glückstadt 1956–2010), unless
otherwise indicated. Transliterated names are not capitalized if they are preceded by their
transcription. Non-­ bibliographical abbreviations: ME  =  Middle Elamite; NE  =  Neo-­
Elamite; OE = Old Elamite.
2 The title with the inverted order, viz. “king of Susa and Anzan”, is recorded in the inscrip-
tions of Attar-­kittah (see [Carter and] Stolper 1984: 36). It can be restored in an Akkadian
inscription of Untaš-­Napiriša (cf. Paulus 2013: 439, 2), whereas the title “king of Anšan
and Susa” is invariably used in his numerous Elamite inscriptions.
3 König 1965, 3 and 67, 70, respectively, (see [Carter and] Stolper 1984: 37, Vallat 1990
and De Graef 2013: 276). An additional OE royal inscription was published by Farber
1974–1975, but the name of the ruler is not preserved.
4 Cf. OE me-­ni-­ik Ha-­da-­am-­[ti-­ik] in the inscription of Siwe-­palar-­huhpak (König 1965:
34: III, see Tavernier 2016).
5 The undeciphered proto-­Elamite material is not taken into account here.
6 Cf. dMa-­za-­at of Pi-­ša-­an-­ne (MDP 28 441, 20, cf. also Vallat 1993: 221). It is worth inves-
tigating whether Pišanne is the ancient name of modern Deh-­i Now. There is no proof that
the latter is the site of ancient Hupšen (see Potts 2016: 225).
7 E.g., nu-­ur ki-­ip-­ra-­at, i.e. nūr kibrāti “light of the world” (see Steve, MDP 41 43 ad 21,
2, 5). Interestingly enough, it is the earliest occurrence of this royal epithet, which is not
recorded in Mesopotamia before Esarhaddon (it resembles a divine epithet in an inscrip-
tion of Šamši-­Adad V, 823–811 BC, cf. CAD N/2: 348–349, s.v. nūru A, a, 1st example
and c). For a possible Akkadian loanword (šarratum) in an Elamite inscription of Šutruk-­
Nahhunte I, see Kozuh 2014: 132.
8 See Paulus 2013: 438–441. The theonym dIm-­mé-­ri-­ia is not attested elsewhere; it looks
Akkadian.
9 The site was not abandoned after it had ceased to be the capital: it recurs in a list
of towns from Susiana from Ashurbanipal's time (mid-­640s BC, Parpola 1970: 115,

317
 — Ran Zadok —

s.vv. Dūr-­Undasi and Dūr-­Undasima, NA, presumably referring to an upper and lower
town).
10 If the above-­mentioned enumeration in the Assyrian chronicle, viz. Zabban, Irrīya and
Ugār-­Sallu, is based on an itinerary (from south to north), then there is no proof that
Irrīya was very close to the Little Zab (cf. Nashef 1982a: 138). Māt-­Irrīya is recorded in
three boundary stones. Illilīya, the governor (šakin māti) of Māt-­Irrīya and Burrattaš, is
mentioned in two of them. Burrattaš and the Karzi-­yabku clan were linked to Halman,
southeast of the Diyāla (see Nashef 1982a: 62, 75, 115). A passage with topographical
information is Paulus 2014: 480 (= Lambert 2011), i, 6–12: md˹EN.LÍL˺-ia DUMU mkar-­zi-­
ia-­ab-­ku i-­na urunu-­˹zi] 7KUR uruir-­re-­e-­a A.GÀR uruar-­rap-­ha 8lú.kurha-­ab-­ha-­A+A-u <ša> i7za-­
ba-­an 9i-­bi-­ru-­am-­ma hu-­ub-­ta ih-­bu-­tú 10 md˹EN.LÍL˺-ia DUMU mkar-­zi-­ia-­ab-­ku 11GAR.
KUR urubur-­rat-­taš ù KUR ir-­re-­e-­a ig-­ri-­ma 12hu-­ub-­ta i-­ki-­me di-­ik-­ta-­šú-­nu i-­du-­uk “(As
for) Illilīya, descendant of Karzi-­yabku – Illilīya, descendant of Karzi-­yabku, the governor
of Burrattaš and Māt Irrīya, made war against the Habheans, <who> had crossed over
the Zaban river (= Little Zab) and engaged in plundering, (but) he (Illilīya) took away the
booty and slaughtered them in (the town of) Nuzi, in the land of Irrīya, (irrigation) district
of Arrapha”. It is arguable that the odd syntax is due to the focus on the grantee, Illilīya,
and the place where he repelled the Habhean enemy. A rendering “in (the city) of Nuzi . . .
the ruler of Habhi crossed the Zaban river and engaged in plundering” (following the
translations of Lambert 2011 and Paulus 2014) is questionable seeing that Nuzi is not
situated on the Little Zab or any river, but on a wadi.
11 König 1965: 132: 54a, 3. Hinz and Koch (1987: 1003), following König (1965: 132, n. 10
ad loc.) aptly render “Gebirgspass von Š.”, but present an incorrect parsing, viz. ni-­ri and
bu-­ni. The -ni of Ni-­ri-­pu-­ni is the same as -ni of ašÚ-ka4-ar-­si-­il-­la-­am-­ni E-be-­eh (above,
B, incorrectly parsed by Hinz and Koch 1987: 1243 who were not yet aware of the occur-
rences of ašÚ-ka4-ar-­si-­el-­la-­am in unpublished inscriptions of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I quoted
by Vallat 1993: 291, s.v. Ukarsillam). Both toponyms are genitive compounds with the
Elamite clitic – ni which is used as a genitive case marker (cf. Khačikjan 1998: 65), whose
position is irregular. The regular position of -ni is at the end of the compound, cf. ME
na-­ap-­p[i-­ip] Ha-­tàm-­ti-­[i]p-­ni “the gods of Elam” in an inscription of Šilhak-­Inšušinak I
(König 1965: 131: 54, 70) and gu-­gu-­un-­nu-­um dIn-­su-­uš-­na-­ak-­ni “Inšušinak’s ziqqurrat”
in an inscription of Hutelutuš-­Inšušinak (König 1965: 139: 61B, iii). In both toponyms -ni
penetrated the complex and follows its 1st component as if it stands in the place of Akkad.
ša.
12 See Paulus 2014: 160–161 ad 511–514: NKU I, 3, cf. Vallat 1993: 57, s.v. Din-­šarri and
Brinkman 1986: 200.
13 These texts, edited by Prof. Eleanor Robson (UCL), are displayed on the website of Tall
Ḫēbar (“Tell Khaiber”  =  TK): http://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/1476498/ (cf. www.urarchae-
ology.org/tell-­khaiber). They are from the period of the “first dynasty of the Sealand”
(for Elamites and other foreigners in unprovenienced texts from that period, see Zadok
2014a). Explicitly Elamites (lúELAM.MA, with Akkadian names):
  A-ta-­na-­ah-­ì-­lí (TK 1096.47, rev. 25), mentioned before fE-re-­ši-­mu-­ut (also TK 1114.36,
rev. 16); Ga-­mi-­lu-­še-­mi (TK 1114.40, 11), and x-­su-­ba-­nu-­tum (TK 3064.135, rev. 6').
Bearers of Elamite names are Me-­er-­ri-­hal-­ki (text DI, TK 3080.04, 16', cf. Zadok 1984:
9:23; 28: 142b) and Ka-­ra-­pu-­ni (TK 1096.47, rev. 33). Ṣil-­lí-­dši-­mu-­ut (TK 3064.108, rev.
3) is hybrid (Akkado-­Elamite); cf. fx-­x-­dsi-­mu-­ut (TK 3080.86, rev. 2) and [. . .-x]-ub-­te-­er
s. of dSi-­mu-­ut-­[. . .] (TK 3064.063, rev. 7).
14 Tilmunites: An-­zak-­GALat (TK 3064.051, 12), An-­zak-­ga-­[mil] (TK 1096.48, 22', father
of I-din-­dIŠKUR), and An-­zak-­[. . .] (father of Ì-lí-­ŠEŠ?-SUM, TK 1114.40, rev. 8).
  Kassites: [Bu-­ur]-ra-­šu-­ga-­ab (TK 1096.58, flake 1, 6') and x-­x-­ra-­sa-­ah (TK 3064.076,
rev. 2). The theophorous element of Bu-­ur-­ra-­Ṭa-­ba-­an (TK 1096.48, 7')/ Bu-­ur-­ra-­Ṭa-­ba-­ni

318
 — Elam and Babylonia c. 1400–1100 BC —

(TK 3064.033, 13) is the deified river name Ṭaban, which is elsewhere contained only in
Akkadian and Sumerian anthroponyms (see Nashef 1982b: 118–119, 121 and add Ṭa-­
ba-­an-­ni-­a-­li?, MDP 22 99, rev. 5', presumably / Ṭaban-­alī/ from OB Susa). The river is in
the Diyāla basin; Bu-­ur-­ra-­Ṭa-­ba-­an perhaps refers to an individual who originated from
there. The only West Semite is fSú-­ti-­i-­tum (TK 3080.27, 14'), that is, “the Sutean lady”.

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 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ELAM AND ASSYRIA

Peter Dubovský

THE HISTORY OF AS S YRIAN- E

­ L AM ITE
RELATIO NS
Traditionally the history of the Neo-­Elamite kingdom has been divided into three
periods (Waters 2000: 3–4; Gorris and Wicks, Chapter 13 in this volume). If we con-
sider Elam from an Assyrian point of view, however, four phases and one interlude
may be distinguished as outlined below.

PHASE I (B EFORE 8 2 3 BCE )  – NO RE CO RD S

In this phase, Elam is completely absent from the extant Assyrian sources. While
this silence is understandable for the greater part of the Middle Assyrian period, it
becomes surprising in view of the well-­documented campaigns conducted in the east
by several Neo-­Assyrian kings, such as Tiglath-­pileser I (1115–1076) and Tukulti-­
ninurta II (891–884). Even more striking is the absence of Elam in the inscriptions of
Ashurnasirpal II (884–859) and Shalmaneser III (859–824), which detail their cam-
paigns in zones bordering on Elamite territory. From these sources it can be inferred
that Elam was virtually non-­existent for Assyria, presenting no serious opposition to
Assyrian expansionistic interests.

PH ASE II (8 2 3 –745 B CE) – O N THE AS S YRIAN

RADAR SCRE E N
Elam appears for the first time in inscriptions dated to the reign of Shamshi-­Adad V
(823–811). When this monarch conducted his fourth and most important campaign
against Babylonia in the year 819, the Babylonian king Marduk-­balatsu-­iqbi mus-
tered troops from various countries, among them Elam, to halt the Assyrian expan-
sion to the south. This anti-­Assyrian coalition was defeated (RIMA 3 A.0.103.1 iv
37–45), and a letter from the god Aššur mentions that the people from along Assyr-
ia’s eastern frontier subsequently escaped to Elam (SAA III 41 r.5–8; cf. RIMA 3
A.0.103.4 21’-34’).

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PH ASE III (7 4 5 –695 B CE )  – A  BARKING D O G

With Tiglath-­pileser III began a new phase of Elamite-­Assyrian relations that lasted
until Sennacherib’s invasions of Elam in 694–689. Assyrian kings expanding their
territory eastwards invaded Babylonia and occupied the Elamite-­Babylonian buffer
zone. In this phase Elam engaged in various subversive activities, welcoming Baby-
lonian political refugees, offering military support to Babylonian rebels, and even
directly engaging in military conflicts with Assyria.

Tiglath-­pileser III
Tiglath-­
pileser III’s (745–727) royal inscriptions mention Elam twice (RINAP 1
47:14; 51:17), and an additional three references are found in letters dated to his
reign (SAA XIX 82; 127; 140). Tiglath-­pileser III’s expansion eastwards in 731–729
met with the strong resistance of both Aramaean and Chaldean tribes led by Mukin-­
zeri of the Bit-­Amukani tribe. Tiglath-­pileser employed a strategy of isolating the
center of the rebellion from its allies; one that had proved efficient in his campaigns
against Damascus and Samaria (Dubovský 2006b: 161–164). Thus, he conquered the
tribe Puqudu and the cities Lahiru, Hilimmu and Pillatu along the Elamite western
frontier and placed them the under the authority of the provincial governor of Arra-
pha (RINAP 1 47:14).
Even though Tiglath-­pileser III’s royal inscriptions do not mention the direct involve-
ment of the Elamite king Humban-­nikaš I (743–717) in the anti-­Assyrian revolt,
certain Neo-­Assyrian letters report that he was partly involved in the Babylonian-­
Assyrian confrontation. SAA XIX 82, dated probably to 731, illustrates the nature
of the Elamite-­Assyrian conflicts in this period. The letter reports on a dispute over
control of a strategic bridge, most likely on the river Tubliaš. We learn that the gover-
nor of Arrapha had turned the anti-­Assyrian military commander Zineni away from
the bridge. Upon hearing this news, the Elamite king and his troops travelled to the
bridge and crossed it, facilitating Zineni’s crossing behind, and then camped in the
forest among the Aramaeans. Soon afterwards, control of the bridge passed again
into Assyrian hands. Letter SAA XIX 127 mentions subversive activity on the part
of the Elamite king and Mukin-­zeri’s son, who had killed a number of soldiers and
carried out deportations. These Elamite efforts to sustain the rebels militarily and
diplomatically (SAA XIX 140) would ultimately fail to prevent Tiglath-­pileser III
from conquering Babylonia.

Sargon II
Three important conflicts between Elam and Assyria are dated to the reign of Sargon
II (722–705). The first clash of arms took place in 720 at Der. Sargon II claimed to
have defeated the Elamite-­Babylonian coalition (Fuchs 1994: 88–89, 197), but in fact
the outcome was much more ambiguous than described in his annals (Potts 1999:
264). On the contrary, ABC 1 i 33–37 reports that the Elamite king Humban-­nikaš
I inflicted a crushing defeat on Sargon II (Grayson 1965: 340–342). This battle not
only established a balance of power between Assyria and Elam but confirmed Elam’s
new policy of openly siding with Babylonia and engaging in war with Assyria.

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Ten years later (710–709) Sargon II conducted a massive offensive against the Bab-
ylonian rebel Marduk-­aplu-­idinna (722–710, 703), known also as Merdoch-­baladan
(Waters 2000: 16–24). Sargon opted for a strategy used earlier by Tiglath-­pileser
III: before attacking the city of Babylon, he led his troops along the western frontier
of Elam on the east of the Tigris (Fuchs 1994: 399–405, 431–432), a region occu-
pied by Aramaean tribes under Elamite influence. Sargon conquered the fortress of
Dur-­Athara in Gambulu and the territory of the Aramaean tribes Puqudu, Ru’ua
and Hindaru, permitting Assyrian troops to enter territories directly controlled by
Elam for the first time. The territory between the Tubliaš and Ulaia rivers occupied
by the Aramaean tribe Iadburu belonged to the Elamite sphere of influence, having
been secured by the Elamite king Šutruk-­Nahhunte II (717–699), who established
and manned fortresses Sam’una and Bab-­duri. Sargon II crossed the Tubliaš river,
stormed both fortresses and deported two Elamite fortress commanders, Singamšibu
and Sa[. . .]na, together with 7,520 Elamite soldiers. This was the first major defeat
of the Elamite troops described in detail in the Neo-­Assyrian royal inscriptions. Sar-
gon attached the Iadburu region to the Gambulu province (Fuchs 1994: 150–151,
l. 295–301), and Elam lost control over all of the Aramaean territories east of the
Tigris (Dubovský 2006a: 84–87), which were incorporated into the newly established
Assyrian Gambulu province just a few kilometers from the Elamite capital, Susa.
Finally, Sargon conquered the Raši territory which bordered on Der, and Šutruk-­
Nahhunte retreated to avoid direct military confrontation. The Assyrian king subse-
quently secured the city of Der, opening access to Ellipi, another Elamite-­controlled
territory.
The third open military clash between Assyria and Elam arose over control of
Ellipi in 708–707 (Fuchs 1998: 112–123; Dubovský 2006a: 75–83). After the death
of Ellipi’s pro-­Assyrian king, Dalta, his nephews Nibe and Ašpa-­bara involved the
Ellipian kingdom in a civil war. Šutruk-­Nahhunte took advantage of the succession
war by offering military aid to Nibe, and after having installed him on the throne,
sending 4,500 Elamite bowmen to protect the Ellipian capital Murabištu. Sargon
immediately responded by sending his troops in support of Ašpa-­bara. Murabištu
was conquered, Nibe was expelled and Ašpa-­bara became the Assyrian vassal in
Ellipi. By the end of Sargon II’s reign, Elam’s direct control in the Zagros area had
shrunk to the territories along the Ulaia river.

Sennacherib
Similarly to the pattern of hostility observed during the reign of Sargon II, the mili-
tary confrontation between Elam and Assyria during Sennacherib’s reign (705–681)
was intrinsically connected with the rebellions in Babylonia. Sennacherib conducted
three major assaults in the east amounting to a total of six campaigns.
The first involvement in the region dates to 704–702 (first campaign; RINAP 3/1
1:5–62). Marduk-­apla-­idinna returned from Elam and, taking advantage of Sar-
gon II’s death, seized the city of Babylon. Without hesitation, Sennacherib marched
against Babylonia. In return for a large sum of money, Šutruk-­Nahhunte offered mil-
itary support to the Babylonian rebels, dispatching his generals and ten commanders
together with 80,000 archers, [850] wagons and horses. An element of the coali-
tion was defeated by Sennacherib at Cutha in 703, whereupon the Elamite military

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 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

hero Nergal-­nasir was captured together with other unit commanders, and Elamite
archers, horses and wagons were taken as war booty. The Assyrians then defeated
the forces of Šutruk-­Nahhunte’s third man Tannanu, who was commanding a unit
composed of Elamites, Chaldeans and Aramaean soldiers. As a result, the coalition
dissolved, Marduk-­apla-­idinna escaped, and Sennacherib looted his palace in Baby-
lon. The following year Sennacherib’s officials suppressed a rebellion, and Babylonia
was left in the hands of Bel-­ibni.
The peace did not last long, and in 700 (fourth campaign) Sennacherib was forced
to intervene for a second time against Marduk-­apla-­idinna. RINAP 3/1 16 iv 63–64
mentions that Elam again offered support to the Babylonian rebels. Once again the
coalition was defeated, Marduk-­apla-­idinna and his supporters escaped to Elam, and
Sennacherib put his first-­born son Aššur-­nadin-­šumi on the Babylonian throne.

PHASE IV (6 9 4 –631 B CE )  – THE

CONQUEST O F E L AM
The second part of Sennacherib’s reign opens a new phase of Elamite-­Assyrian rela-
tions in which Elam is no longer a distant kingdom supporting the Assyrian enemy
but becomes the direct target of Assyrian campaigns. This phase commences with
Sennacherib’s sixth campaign in 694 and lasts until Ashurbanipal’s conquest of Elam
and his suppression of the last rebellions in 645.

Sennacherib’s first invasions of Elam

The most important confrontation between Elam and Assyria took place between
694 and 689 (RINAP 3/1 22 iv 32-vi 35). Sennacherib decided to invade Elam (sixth
campaign; 694) and break the backbone of Babylonian resistance. He mounted a
naval operation that sailed down the Tigris in Phoenician ships to reach the Elamite
regions in the marshes of the Persian Gulf (ÍDmarrati, RINAP 3/2 46:51), which had
been offering shelter to Babylonian refugees. After landing, Sennacherib reached the
Ulaia river and defeated the Elamite-­Babylonian army, stormed the Elamite cities and
deported the runaways (RINAP 3/2 46:101–102). This victory in southern Elam,
however, turned out to be a disaster for Assyria. While the Assyrian troops were busy
in the south, the Babylonians involved the Elamite king Hallušu (699–693) directly
in the battle, literally “dragging” him to Babylon (ildudūnimma; RINAP 3/1 34:28).
ABC 1 ii 32–45 offers a detail conveniently omitted from the Assyrian sources: Hal-
lušu attacked Assyria from the rear by assaulting the city of Sippar. With the help of
the Babylonian rebels, he captured Sennacherib’s son Aššur-­nadin-­šumi, brought him
to Elam and placed Nergal-­ušezib on the Babylonian throne. Nergal-­ušezib’s army,
sustained by the Elamite troops, advanced southwards and captured Nippur. The reb-
els now, therefore, controlled northern and central Babylonia from Sippar to Nippur.
When the Assyrian army sailed back from Elam, it found itself deadlocked between
the Persian Gulf and the Elamite-­Babylonian coalition, cut off from its homeland.
Sennacherib sent more troops who defeated the coalition army supported by Hallušu
and killed his son, captured the city of Uruk and advanced westwards to seize the
Babylonian king Nergal-­ušezib near Nippur. Sennacherib deported Nergal-­ušezib to
Nineveh and bound him at the Citadel Gate of Nineveh (RINAP 3/1 34:19b-­36a).

326
 — Elam and Assyria —

Furious that his son was taken hostage and probably executed in Elam (cf. RINAP
4, 2), Sennacherib seized upon the opportunity of an insurrection against Hallušu
to invade Elam for the second time (ABC 1 iii 7–12). He conquered and devastated
its western regions, laying siege for the first time to the Elamite capital Madaktu
(seventh campaign; 693), but the harsh winter conditions forced him to abandon the
campaign. The new Elamite king Kutur-­Nahhunte II (693–692) who had escaped to
the mountains, returned to reconstruct the destroyed regions and brought back the
survivors (RINAP 3/1 35:25’-27’).
The retreat of the Assyrian army served as an encouragement to the Babylonian
rebels and Mušezib-­Marduk took the throne at Babylon. Faced with Sennacherib’s
troops, he again sought refuge in Elam but this time was not welcomed. Upon his
return, he managed to retake the kingship at Babylon and sent a large gift to the
newly appointed Elamite king Humban-­ menana (692–689): “Gather your army,
muster your forces, hurry to Babylon, and stand on our side! You are our hope.”
(RINAP 3/1 22 v 35–37). The Elamite king accepted the gift and gave his military
support to the rebels. A decisive battle took place at the city of Halule on the bank
of the Tigris in 691 (eighth campaign), in which the Elamite army commanded by
Humban-­undaš was defeated. Humban-­menana avoided direct battle, escaping from
the battlefield, but Elamite magnates were captured alive and their possessions taken
as booty. The defeat was described in detail:
“Like a flood in full spate after a seasonal rainstorm, I  made their blood flow
over the broad earth. The swift thoroughbreds harnessed to my chariot plunged into
floods of their blood (just) like the river ordeal. The wheels of my war chariot, which
lays criminals and villains low, were bathed in blood and gore. I filled the plain with
the corpses of their warriors like grass.” (RINAP 3/1 22 vi 3–10).
The battles in Babylonia lasted until 689 when Sennacherib finally conquered the
city of Babylon and utterly destroyed it.

Esarhaddon
The assassination of Sennacherib in 681 gave rise to a wave of insurrections. At the
outset of his reign, Esarhaddon (681–669) faced the same problem as his predeces-
sors. Elamite involvement in anti-­Assyrian activities at Babylon are first mentioned in
relation to a conspiracy of a minor scale orchestrated by Nabu-­ahhe-­iddin, who sent
gifts to obtain Elamite military support (Weidner 1954/55: 5–9). More serious was
a rebellion centered on the city of Ur: in 680 Marduk-­apla-­idinna’s son Nabu-­zer-­
kitti-­lišir, labelled “rebel” and “insurgent” (RINAP 4 1 ii 54), emerged as the leader
of anti-­Assyrian insurgency and conquered the city. Esarhaddon responded by force
and Nabu-­zer-­kitti-­lišir, together with his brother Naʾid-­Marduk, escaped to Elam.
Unexpectedly, Nabu-­zer-­kitti-­lišir was executed here by the Elamite king Humban-­
haltaš II (681–675). Seeing the fate of his brother, Naʾid-­Marduk escaped and fled to
Nineveh, begging for mercy and was named by Esarhaddon the king of the Sealand
(Waters 2000: 37–40).
This policy of Esarhaddon calmed down tensions in Babylonia but failed to erad-
icate the anti-­Assyrian sentiment, which the Elamite king Humban-­haltaš willingly
nourished. ABC 1 iv 9–10 reports that Humban-­haltaš invaded Assyrian territory
and raided the city of Sippar. The Elamites, who supported the insurrection of

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Marduk-­apla-­idinna’s son, Nabu-­ušallim, aimed to take the Sealand and overthrow

Naʾid-­Marduk. Letters SAA XVIII 86 and 87 report Elam’s attempt to transfer some
of the frontier territories to Nabu-­ušallim, pressuring the Aramaean tribes in the
Sealand, but the tribes remained loyal to Esarhaddon.

Esarhaddon’s interlude: a non-­aggression treaty

Relations between Assyria and Elam started changing in 676. In this year Bel-­iqiša of
the Gambulu tribe submitted to Assyria. In order to bring to an end to the instability
in the Elamite-­Assyrian frontier region, Esarhaddon reports that: “I strengthened the
city Ša-­pi-­Bel, the city (which is) his strong fortress, and I put him together with his
archers therein as a garrison and (thus) locked it (the fortress) up like a door against
the land Elam.” (RINAP 4 1 iii 80–83).
The situation in Babylonia also changed. Esarhaddon’s support of the legitimate
Babylonian king Naʾid-­Marduk was backed up by a sophisticated intelligence net-
work. To help calm local tensions, the Assyrian king reinstated property that Baby-
lonians had given to Elam in exchange for military aid (Frame 1992: 71) and further
boasts of having carried out significant reconstructions of Babylonian temples.
These factors paved the way for a new phase of relations between Elam and
Assyria. The new Elamite king Urtak (675‒664) concluded a bilateral treaty of non-­
aggression with Esarhaddon dated to 674: “So that there would be no trespassing on
the borders of their countries they (the Elamites and Gutians) sent their messengers
(with messages) of friendship and peace to Nineveh, before me, and they swore an
oath by the great gods.” (RINAP 4 1 v 30–33; cf. also SAA IV 74:2–4). The extant
documents do not report any Assyrian campaign against Elam in the later period of
Esarhaddon’s reign, and it seems that this treaty transformed Assyrian-­Elamite rela-
tions from open war to a situation of relative peace, as a letter sent by Esarhaddon
to Urtak shows: “May Urtak, king of Elam, my brother, be well!” (SAA XVI 1:6). In
sum, the decade 674‒664 represents a short interlude of peaceful relations between
Assyria and Elam regulated by the treaty of non-­aggression, which according to the
extant documents, is the only treaty concluded between both kingdoms.

Ashurbanipal’s conquest of Elam

The relative calm in Babylonia and the non-­aggression treaty with Elam enabled
Ashurbanipal (669–631) to resume the campaigns against Egypt that his predecessor
Esarhaddon had started. With the Assyrians engaged in Egypt, Elam became involved
again in an anti-­Assyrian revolt (Gerardi 1987: 120–214). Bringing to an end ten
years of peace, the Elamite king Urtak transgressed the treaty, enticed by his general
Marduk-­šumu-­ibni into joining a coalition composed of Bel-­iqiša, the chief of the
Gambulu tribe, and Nabu-­šumu-­ereš, the governor of Nippur. A messenger of Ashur-
banipal returning from Babylon reported that it had been taken by the rebels. In 664
Ashurbanipal marched to Babylonia (the first campaign against Elam; BIWA B §28–
30). Urtak retreated with his troops, but Ashurbanipal pursued them, defeating the
troops and driving Urtak back to the Elamite frontier. Urtak then died prematurely
in Elam, and the country fell into anarchy, out of which emerged a new Elamite king:
Te-­umman (Waters 2000: 42–55).

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Whereas Urtak’s involvement in the anti-­Assyrian revolt, as well as his retreat,

followed the typical pattern of the previous Elamite kings, Te-­umman (664–653)
opened a new last chapter of Assyrian-­Elamite interaction by involving Elam directly
in the war against Assyria (the second campaign against Elam; BIWA B §31–35; SAA
III 31), and ultimately bringing the destruction of Elam (the end of the Neo-­Elamite
II period). After ascending to power in 664, Te-­umman began to eliminate any pre-
tenders to the throne. The remaining members of the royal family, among whom
were Urtak’s sons Humban-­nikaš and Tammaritu, and numerous dignitaries sought
asylum in Assyria, bringing a great gift to Ashurbanipal. Ashurbanipal’s refusal to
return the runaways at Te-­umman’s behest resulted in the exchange of a series of
angry messages, and in 653 Te-­umman began to mobilize his troops. After having
received the confirmation from the gods, Ashurbanipal attacked Te-­umman’s troops
at Til-­Tuba, on the banks of the river Ulaia. Being better equipped, as depicted on the
reliefs, the Assyrian troops trounced the Elamite army; Te-­umman was captured and
beheaded and his son Tammaritu killed. Immediately after the defeat Ashurbanipal
attacked Te-­umman’s ally Dunanu, chief of the Gambulu tribe (BIWA B§36–41). The
Assyrian troops returned with immense booty to Nineveh, and Dunanu entered the
city with Te-­umman’s head hanging around his neck. In contrast to the treaty con-
cluded between Urtak and Esarhaddon, described as an agreement of friendship and
peace (mār šiprātišunu ša ṭūbi u sulummê, literally “messengers of good and peace”)
and oath-­taking (ša . . . izkurū, literally “they swore”) (RINAP 4 1 v 31, 33), Ashur-
banipal’s victory transformed Elam into one more fully-­fledged vassal state bound to
Assyria by means of an adê-­treaty (BIWA B vii 6).
Ashurbanipal entrusted Elam to the sons of Urtak who had been living in exile in
Assyria. The oldest, Humban-­nikaš II, was installed on the throne of Madaktu and
Tammaritu I on the throne of Hidalu. This arrangement proved to be short-­lived, and
Elam was soon immerged in a series of insurrections and wars that ravaged the coun-
try for five years. Shortly after being installed on the throne, Humban-­nikaš II (653–
652) received a bribe from Ashurbanipal’s brother Šamaš-­šumu-­ukin and joined the
anti-­Assyrian revolt in Babylonia. He not only helped mobilize troops in Babylonia
but also urged Undasi, Te-­umman’s son who had survived the battle at Til-­Tuba, to
avenge his father’s death by joining the anti-­Assyrian campaign (BIWA B vii 23–24).
Ashurbanipal assaulted the rebels in a battle in 652 at Hiritu in the Diyala region
(the third campaign against Elam; BIWA B§42–50) and the Babylonian-­Elamite coa-
lition was once again defeated. Undasi and his generals were decapitated. After the
crushing defeat of the coalition, Ashurbanipal sent messengers to Humban-­nikaš II,
but received no answer. The defeat, coupled with the Assyrian pressure on Elam,
triggered an internal insurrection in which Humban-­nikaš II was murdered by his
nephew Tammaritu II (Potts 1999: 281). Tammaritu continued the support of Šamaš-­
šumu-­ukin in the bloody civil war against Ashurbanipal, but when Šamaš-­šumu-­ukin
was overthrown by Indabibi in 650, Tammaritu and his courtiers escaped to Assyria
and kissed Ashurbanipal’s feet, seeking mercy. Indabibi opted for peaceful relations
with Assyria, releasing some Assyrian prisoners and paying tribute. When Ashurbani-
pal’s appeals for the return of all runaways went unheeded, he determined to march
against Elam. The approaching Assyrian army provoked the murder of Indabibi and
installation of Humban-­haltaš III (648–647), who continued the anti-­Assyrian policy
of his predecessors.

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 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

Meanwhile Babylon fell into Ashurbanipal’s hands after two years of siege (650–
648), and Šamaš-­šumu-­ukin died. After the conquest of Babylon, Ashurbanipal turned
his full attention to Elam and conducted what was his fourth campaign to eradi-
cate the remaining nuclei of resistance in Elam (BIWA F§18–24). Marching towards
Elam, the Aramaean tribes surrendered, and he easily conquered the Elamite out-
post of Bit-­imbi. The fortress commander was beheaded and the remaining members
of Te-­umman’s family who had survived the bloodshed at Til-­Tuba were deported
to Assyria. This campaign made the situation in Elam even less stable. Humban-­
haltaš III residing in Madaktu was challenged by his rival Humban-­habua residing in
Bubilu. Seeing the approaching Assyrian army both Humban-­haltaš III and Humban-­
habua fled. Ashurbanipal entered the city of Susa and made his last attempt to reor-
ganize Elam by appointing the former king Tammaritu II as king of Elam. However,
his priming period at Nineveh proved insufficient, and shortly after his installation
on the throne Tammaritu betrayed Assyria. The annals attribute his removal from the
throne to the gods Aššur and Ištar. Even though Tammaritu humiliated himself and
submitted to Assyria, Ashurbanipal did not reinstall him on the throne and Elam was
left kingless.
Humban-­haltaš III took advantage of the anarchy in Elam after the departure
of the Assyrian troops and returned from his concealment to Madaktu, forcing
Ashurbanipal to organize his fifth campaign against Elam in 647 (BIWA F§25–35).
Humban-­haltaš once again escaped from Madaktu as the advancing Assyrian army
conquered one Elamite city after the other, including the royal residences Madaktu,
Bubilu, Kabinak, Susa and Dur-­undasi. Humban-­haltaš fortified the fords of the river
Idide in an attempt to stop the advancing Assyrian army, but after Ištar had appeared
to his troops, Ashurbanipal crossed the river and Humban-­haltaš III again fled. On
his way back, Ashurbanipal returned to Susa, destroyed the ziggurat, looted the royal
palaces and brought enormous booty to Nineveh.
Even though Prism F describes the conquest of Susa as the definitive conquest of
Elam, the Assyrians needed two more years to set Elam in order. After the departure
of Ashurbanipal’s army, Humban-­haltaš III returned from the mountains and again
settled in Madaktu. The crucial role in suppressing the remaining opposition was
played by Bel-­ibni, the Assyrian general and governor of the Sealand, who made
several minor invasions and raids aimed at disrupting the anti-­Assyrian resistance in
Elam (ABL 280, 281, 462, 792). Heavy Assyrian diplomatic pressure, combined with
natural disasters (ABL 1000:5–11) and Bel-­ibni’s raids, provoked a revolt against
Humban-­haltaš III (ABL 281:20; 460:7). Meanwhile, Assyria sought the extradition
of the former governor of the Sealand, Nabu-­bel-­šumati, the grandson of Merodach-­
Baladan  – called prostitute, the reject of Bel, one cursed by the gods  – who since
651 had been encouraging anti-­Assyrian rebellions siding with Šamaš-­šumu-­ukin and
imprisoning Ashurbanipal’s soldiers. He made several incursions into Assyrian terri-
tory, capturing the brother of general Bel-­ibni. Ashurbanipal made it clear that the
suffering of the Elamites was due to their support for Nabu-­bel-­šumati. As a result
of Assyrian pressure, Nabu-­bel-­šumati committed suicide or was murdered (PNAE
2/II, 81–814). Humban-­haltaš III sent his corpse to Nineveh and then escaped to the
mountains (BIWA A§61–63). Around 645 Humban-­haltaš was captured, probably in
Ellipi (BM 124794), and together with other rebels brought to Nineveh where he was

330
 — Elam and Assyria —

publicly humiliated. His capture and the death of Nabu-­bel-­šumati marked the end
of Elamite resistance (Dubovský 2013). Ashurbanipal’s final eradication of Elamite
resistance and the looting of the capitals is presented as the end of Elam.

SUMMA RY
Assyrian kings expanding their control over eastern territories inevitably clashed with
Elamite interests. The royal inscriptions report at least 17 military encounters between
Assyria and Elam (Table 16.1), which can be divided into three groups: pitched bat-
tles, Assyrian invasions of Elam and battles against anti-­Assyrian coalitions.

Table 16.1  Reports on military encounters between Assyria and

Elam in the royal inscriptions

No. Year Assyrian Elamite Events Type of conflict

King King
1. 819 Shamshi-­ unknown Elam supported Elam part of anti-­
Adad V Babylonian king Assyrian coalition
Marduk-­balatsu-­iqbi,
the refuges went to
Elam.
2. 731–729 Tiglath-­ Humban-­ Assyrians controlled No resistance
pileser III nikaš I Elamite western mentioned in the
frontier. NA inscriptions.
3. 720 Sargon II Humban-­ According Assyrian Direct
nikaš I sources Sargon won, confrontation;
according to ABC1 Elam defeated
Sargon lost. according to NA
sources.
4. 710 Sargon II Šutruk-­ Assyrians captured Elam part of anti-­
Nahhunte Elamite fortresses and Assyrian coalition
II regained the control
over Elamite western
frontier. Šutruk-­
Nahhunte II avoided
a direct battle in the
Raši region.
5. 708–707 Sargon II Šutruk-­ Elam provided Elam part of anti-­
Nahhunte soldiers to protect Assyrian coalition
II Ellipian capital
Murabištu. Assyrians
captured the city.

(Continued)

331
 Table 16.1 (Continued)

No. Year Assyrian Elamite Events Type of conflict

King King
6. 704–702 Sennacherib Šutruk-­ Elam supported Elam part of anti-­
Nahhunte Marduk-­apla-­idinna’s Assyrian coalition
II revolt by providing
soldiers. Assyrians
defeated the troops
under the Elamite
command at Cutha.
7. 700 Sennacherib Šutruk-­ Elam offered Elam part of anti-­
Nahhunte military support to Assyrian coalition
II Marduk-­apla-­idinna.
8. 694 Sennacherib Ḫallušu Assyria stormed Invasion
southern Elam;
counter-­attack of the
Elamites; Sennacherib’s
reconquering of
Babylonia.
9. 693 Sennacherib Kutur-­ Invasion of Elam, Invasion
Nahhunte Kutur-­Nahhunte II
II escaped, the first siege
of the Elamite capital
Madaktu.
10. 691 Sennacherib Ḫumban-­ Babylonian-­Elamite Elam part of anti-­
menana coalition defeated at Assyrian coalition
Halule.
11. 680 Esarhaddon Humban-­ Supporting Babylonian Elam part of anti-­
haltaš II rebels (minor Assyrian coalition
skirmishes); Humban-­
haltaš II executed
Nabu-­zer-­kitti-­lišir.
12. 676 Esarhaddon Humban-­ Assyria secured Elamite Invasion
haltaš II frontier by setting up
the fortress Ša-­pi-­Bel.
675 Esarhaddon Urtak Non-­aggression treaty
13. 664 Ashurbanipal Urtak Assyria defeated Elam part of anti-­
Babylonian-­Elamite Assyrian coalition
coalition.
14. 653 Ashurbanipal Te-­umman Elam was defeated at Direct
Til-­Tuba, Te-­umman confrontation
was executed.
 — Elam and Assyria —

No. Year Assyrian Elamite Events Type of conflict

King King
15. 652 Ashurbanipal Humban-­ Assyria defeated Elam part of anti-­
nikaš II Elamite-­Babylonian Assyrian coalition
coalition led by Šamaš-­
šumu-­ukin at Hiritu.
Ashurbanipal Indabibi Peace with Assyria
16. 648 Ashurbanipal Humban-­ Conquest of Bit-­Imbi; Invasion
haltaš the Elamite kings
III and escaped; Ashurbanipal
Humban-­ entered Susa.
habua
17. 647 Ashurbanipal Humban-­ The Elamite king Invasion
haltaš III escaped, Assyrians
looted Susa and other
cities.

According to the royal inscriptions, the Assyrian and Elamite armies met in pitched
battles only twice: in 720 Sargon II fought against Humban-­nikaš I at Der and in 653
Ashurbanipal faced Te-­umman at Til-­Tuba. Whereas the results of the former were
more than ambiguous, the latter represented the striking defeat of the Elamite royal
army (BIWA B§31–35).
The second group of Assyrian-­Elamite clashes is represented by the Assyrian inva-
sions and conquests of the territories directly or indirectly controlled by Elam. The
first Assyrian interference in Elamite affairs took place when Tiglath-­pileser III took
control over the western frontier that was under the Elamite sphere of influence
(Brinkman 1986). This frontier, in fact, moved back and forth between Assyria and
Elam a number of times (cf. RINAP 3/1 22 iv 55–61). A  more serious interfering
episode was the invasion of southern Elam by Sennacherib. The most severe intru-
sions were Assyrian invasions into the heartland of Elam resulting in conquest of the
Elamite capitals Madaktu and Susa.
The above survey of Elamite-­Assyrian relations pointed out that the most import-
ant characteristic of Elam through phases II – IV was its continuous support of anti-­
Assyrian rebels, in particular the Babylonians. Elam’s siding with Babylonia was
indeed a shift in Elamite international policy. Whereas in the second millennium,
Babylonia and Elam had been often on antagonist terms, the rise of a common enemy
Assyria – caused the two arch-­enemies to become allies (Brinkman 1968: 315–318).
Elamite support for the rebels came in the form of military help and in the providing
of safe haven to political asylum seekers.
The first indication of Elamite military support to the Babylonian rebels is doc-
umented in the annals of Šamši-­Adad V. The Babylonian king Marduk-­balatsu-­iqbi
rallied the lands of Chaldea, Elam, Namri and Aram, employing the verb dekû “to
call up, levy” (RIMA 3 A.0.103.1 iv 40). The capacity of the Babylonian king to

333
 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

muster Elamite troops changed and in the later period Elamite support was not given
for free. Thus when Marduk-­apla-­idinna approached Šutruk-­Nahhunte II for help
against Sargon II’s invading troops in 710–709, he sent a gift (kadrû), that is, a bribe
(ṭa’atu) to buy the Elamite king’s assistance (Ann. l. 309). Sennacherib’s scribes also
underlined that in order to seal their friendship (ibrūtu), Marduk-­apla-­idinna gave
Šutruk-­Nahhunte II gold, silver and precious gems (RINAP 3/1 1:7). In exchange for
these gifts, the Elamite kings provided the Babylonians with archers, horses, wagons,
commanders and even their best warriors. On some occasions, the Elamite kings even
accompanied their troops in person. Elamite military support significantly amplified
the effectiveness of the anti-­Assyrian resistance. The deployment of the troops of
local governors was nowhere near sufficient to defeat it, necessitating the involve-
ment of the Assyrian royal army.
The second characteristic of Elam was its willingness to offer safe haven to anti-­
Assyrian rebels, welcoming them since Shamshi-­Adad V’s reign (RIMA 3 A.0.103.4
21’-34’). The most glaring example was Marduk-­apla-­idinna, who escaped to Elam
in 709 after Sargon II’s conquest of Dur-­Ladinna (Ann. l. 305–307) and would flee
repeatedly to Elam and return to Babylon until his death. During Sennacherib’s
assault of Babylonia, there was a massive exodus and the fugitives settled down in
southern Elam. However, the rebels were not welcome in all cases. When Mušezib-­
Marduk escaped to Elam during Sennacherib’s eighth campaign, there was a con-
spiracy against him and he managed to return to Babylon (RINAP 3/1 22 v 26–30).

ELAM ACCORDING TO AS S YRIAN W RITING S

Elam according to Assyrian royal propaganda
The previous section pointed out the complex relations between both kingdoms.
Based on the nature of the evidence, it is only natural that the presentation of Elam in
Neo-­Assyrian royal inscriptions was highly charged with royal propaganda.

Not even Elam could resist Assyria!

According to the royal inscriptions, Assyria was always the victor and Elam always the
defeated (see Table 16.1), illustrating that not even one of the most powerful kingdoms
was able to resist Assyria. The image of Elam as the overcome was enhanced by the
reported effects of the Assyrian victories. Thus, for example, Sargon II claimed that his
conquest of the Ellipian capital manned by the Elamite archers “poured out upon the
entirety of the land of Elam deathly silence (šaḫrartu)” (Fuchs 1994: 181). Similarly,
Sennacherib’s inscriptions comment: “I poured out awe-­inspiring brilliance upon his
ally, the king of the land Elam (Šutruk-­Nahhunte II)” (RINAP 3/1 16 iv 63–64). Esar-
haddon claimed that even the obstinate rulers, including those of Elam, were filled with
fear and terror (RINAP 4 1 v 26–29). In his letter to king Ashurbanipal, the god Aššur
states that the Elamites trembled and shook before the king (SAA III 45:6’).

Positive interpretation
In order to emphasize the overwhelming superiority and bravery of the Assyrians, the
royal scribes always lay a positive stress upon Assyrian campaigns. For this reason
334
 — Elam and Assyria —

they did not hesitate to “adjust” the data (Laato 1995: 203–213). Thus Sargon’s
scribes attributed victory at Der in 720 to Assyria, while according to Babylonian
chronicles Sargon II had instead lost (ABC 1 i 33–37). Similarly, according to Tiglath-­
pileser III’s inscriptions, Elam had merely observed the Assyrian army marching along
the border, whereas the letters point to a much less passive response, with incursions
of the Elamite king into Assyrian-­controlled territory.
Moreover, to interpret military campaigns positively, the Assyrian scribes pre-
sented each one as a definitive victory over their enemies. Yet the reconstruction
of Ashurbanipal’s campaigns against Elam, for example, showed that this was not
always the case, and after five campaigns Assyria still needed two more years to track
down the Elamite rebels.
Exceptionally, the royal inscriptions also reported cases when Assyria did not win,
but did so only to demonstrate how difficult the battle was. The report on a partial
defeat of Sennacherib’s troops at Kish gave prominence to Sennacherib’s bravery; even
after Assyrian magnates had lost this battle, he was able to mobilize his troops and went
on to defeat the rebels at Cutha. Thus, the Assyrians lost the battle but won the war
(RINAP 3/1 1:21–33). In some cases, the Assyrian scribes also admitted that the bravery
of Elam instilled fear among the Assyrians. By allowing Sennacherib to confess his fear
of a harsh winter and opt for a retreat instead of continuing the siege of the Elamite
capital Madaktu (de Miroschedi 1986), the royal scribes laid stress on the dangers of
the campaign and on Sennacherib’s wisdom and discernment (RINAP 3/1 35:23’-24’).
The difficulties encountered in the campaigns in Elam are also used to highlight
the Assyrian kings’ bravery. For example, during campaigns against Babylonia in
704–702, Assyria had to face the coalition organized by the Elamite king. The scribes’
descriptions give the impression of a massive and well-­organized Elamite army with
excellent commanders: “To the land of Sumer and Akkad, he (Šutruk-­Nahhunte II)
sent to his (Marduk-­apla-­iddina’s) assis[tance] Imbappa, [his] field marshal, [together
with the massed body of] his [tr]oops, Tannanu, (his) third man, ten unit commanders,
including Nergal-­naṣir, a Sutian who is fearless in battle, 80,000 archers (and) [lanc-
ers, (and) the 850] wagons (and) horses that were with them.” (RINAP 3/1 1:8–9).
The bravery of ten Elamite commanders sent to fight against Assyria is highly valued
“they did not know death”, that is, they did not fear to die (RINAP 3/1 1:17). The
positive evaluation of the enemy served to underline the invincibility of the Assyr-
ian army and Sennacherib’s fearlessness. Similarly, the description of Elamite troops
and the fear of Ashurbanipal in facing Te-­umman’s army was intended to underline
Ashurbanipal’s piety: he received confirmation by Ishtar and the inscriptions report
his long prayer (BIWA B§33).

B ELITTLEMENT AND VIL IF ICATIO N

Assyrian royal inscriptions not only overemphasized Assyrian victories but also
intentionally belittled and vilified their enemies. In the case of Elam, it is possible to
observe a gradually worsening presentation of Elamite troops and their kings.

Belittlement of the Elamite army

A neutral description of the Elamite army and warriors changed with Sennach-
erib’s inscriptions. The first level of belittling was achieved by means of irony when
335
 — Pe t e r D u b o v s k ý —

Sennacherib’s scribes described the Elamite hero Humban-­undaš and his magnates:
“who . . . have reddish gold sling straps fastened to their forearms, like fattened bulls
restrained with fetters.” (RINAP 3/1 22 v 82-vi 1).
A higher level of belittling was achieved by means of metaphors describing Sen-
nacherib’s victory: “I slit their throats like sheep (and thus) cut off their precious lives
like thread . . . I cut off (their) lips and (thus) destroyed their pride. I cut off their
hands like the stems of cucumbers in season.” (RINAP 3/1 22 vi 2–13). Even more
naturalistic is the metaphoric description of soldiers’ fear: “Their hearts throbbed
like the pursued young of pigeons, they passed their urine hotly, (and) released their
excrement inside their chariots.” (RINAP 3/1 22 vi 30–32).

Belittlement of Elamite kings

The first negative comments on the Elamite king Šutruk-­Nahhunte II appeared in
Sargon II’s annals. Sargon’s scribes called him “enemy” (nakru; l. 382). A more nega-
tive evaluation represented Šutruk-­Nahhunte II’s failure to observe war ethics. When
Marduk-­apla-­idinna sent him a bribe to obtain his support against Assyria, Šutruk-­
Nahhunte accepted money but out of fear did not come to help the Babylonians.
Because of this, he was branded “evil, malevolent” (ṣēnu; Ann. l. 308–310).
Another way of belittling Elamite kings was to present them as cowards, who in
order to save their own lives abandoned their people and cities and escaped to the
mountains. The cowardice of the Elamite kings was a constant feature in Assyrian
royal inscriptions. Thus, for example, Šutruk-­Nahhunte II avoided confronting Sar-
gon II in a pitched battle and left the Raši region in the hands of the Assyrian troops;
Kutur-­Nahhunte II, seeing Sennacherib’s army, abandoned the capital Madaktu and
escaped to save his life; Humban-­haltaš III and Humban-­habua disappeared like fish
in the water (BIWA F iii 69) and escaped to the mountains avoiding the battle against
Ashurbanipal (BIWA F §20–21).
According to Assyrian scribes the Elamite kings were not only cowards but, as
Sennacherib’s inscription illustrates, they did everything to save their own lives: “(As
for) him, Umman-­menanu (Humban-­menana III), the king of the land Elam, along
with the king of Babylon (and) the sheikhs of Chaldea who marched at his side, terror
of doing battle with me overwhelmed them like alû-­demons. They abandoned their
tents and, in order to save their lives, they trampled the corpses of their troops as they
pushed on.” (RINAP 3/1 22 vi 24–29).
The scribes belittled the person of the king and commented on his judgment and
behavior. Thus Sennacherib’s scribes added spiteful notes on Humban-­menana III:
“After him, Umman-­menanu, who does not have sense or insight, his younger brother,
sat on his throne. (RINAP 3/1 22 v 14–16, cf. v 33–4); “That Elamite ,. . ., accepted
the bribe from them without thinking.” (RINAP 3/1 22 v 40); “He ,. . ., was a rash
fellow who does not have sense or insight.” (RINAP 3/2 230:15–16). Esarhaddon’s
scribes called Humban-­haltaš II an obstinate ruler (RINAP 4 1 v 26), while the scribes
of Ashurbanipal considered Urtak an ingrate who did not appreciate what the Assyr-
ian kings did for him (BIWA B iv 18–26; cf. also BIWA B vii 3–7), and Tammaritu II
was labelled a “dangerous rebel” (BIWA F iii 76).
The royal propaganda reported Te-­umman’s arrogant speeches (BIWA B v 2)
and his obstinacy: “I will not [sleep until] I have come and din[ed] in the center of

336
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Nineveh!” (SAA III 3112’-13’). But the scribes did not stop at presenting Te-­umman’s
arrogance; they indeed represented him as the apex of evil. Te-­umman was the image
of the gallû-­demons (BIWA B iv 74); he reflected evil (BIWA B iv 78). The gods pun-
ished his evil deeds by disfiguring his body, and Ishtar confused his mind. Yet despite
all the signs and portents, he did not change his mind (BIWA B§32).

LETTE RS
Evidently the image of Elam reconstructed from the royal inscriptions is only one side
of the coin. Other extant Assyrian documents, in particular letters, help to expose the
other side of the coin, that is, what Elam meant for the local governors, merchants,
soldiers and so on.

Diplomatic and military background

The Assyrian letters, above all, enable one to reconstruct the background to military
conflicts and diplomatic tensions that preceded, accompanied and followed the royal
campaigns (Waters 1999). These letters resemble modern intelligence reports (Hong-
geng 2004). The Assyrian agents reported on the movements of the Elamite kings, their
army and magnates. For example, letters from Sargon II’s reign give details of where
the Elamite army was at a given time (SAA XV 111–115), report on Elamite efforts to
mobilize troops and raise provisions for the army (SAA XV 129–130) and reveal the
fear among Assyrian troops when they heard that the Elamite army was close to their
camp: “You [know] that this pass [leading to] Urammu is [ver]y difficult [to march
through]; there is absolutely no way the Elamite [troops] will be able to get at you.
Don’t be afraid; at the city of Urammu where you are to pitch the camp [there is] a
plain which is [very] good for encamping; it is also [very] good for reconnaissance expe-
ditions, there is [much] grass there, and it is a [good] place to rest.” (SAA I 13:5–19).
Besides military intelligence, Assyrian letters bear witness to intricate diplomatic
relations full of false or true accusations. Bel-­ibni reported that he was falsely accused
by Elamite emissaries and was afraid to come to the king (SAA XVII 52). In a similar
way, the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal urged the Elamite elders to realize that their
support of Nabu-­bel-­šumani was the root of Elamite destruction (Waters 2002). Sim-
ilar reports have been preserved from Phases III and IV.
The royal inscriptions describe both military invasions and periods of peace
between the kingdoms. Letters provide insights into the periods not mentioned in
the royal inscriptions, demonstrating there were political tensions and even military
clashes. For example, while royal inscriptions suggested that Elam’s non-­aggression
treaty with Assyria ushered in a period of peace in 674‒664, the letters point out that
the peace was only relative. First, there were members of the Elamite royal family
who did not agree with the treaty. They not only tried to incite the Elamite king to
participate in another Babylonian rebellion but some also travelled to Babylonia to
support the anti-­Assyrian currents: “Last year after the palace supervisor and the
magnates went down to Chaldea, the brothers of the king of Elam kept pushing
and inciting the king (Urtak), their brother: ‘Let’s muster a camp and cross over to
Chaldea and remove Chaldea from Assyria’s control’. The king of Elam did not do
wrong; he did not listen to them and did not [c]omply, but said, ‘I will not disregard

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the treaty.’ He [r]estrained them, (and) up to now he has not [. . .] but has stayed
awake. They have been wa[iting for] their brother (to yield), however.” (SAA XVIII
202:9–17). Moreover, the problems of fugitives who found their asylum in Elamite
territory continued during the period of interlude (SAA XVIII 7).
These reports combined with queries to the gods (SAA IV 74, 139, 142, 144, 271,
273, 280, 281, 282, 289, 290) and prophecies about Elam (SAA IX 8) show that Elam
represented a serious threat for the Assyrian Empire (Cooley 2015).

INTERNATIONAL RE L ATIO NS
Whereas the royal inscriptions and numerous letters focus mainly on military ten-
sions, some letters show other aspects of Elamite-­Assyrian relations. People (SAA
XVIII 80), princesses (SAA XVIII 102), emissaries (SAA X 185), specialists (SAA X
160), sheiks (SAA XVII 154), and so on moved from one kingdom to the other, and
the exchange of gifts, booty and goods between Assyria and Elam was conducted on
a large scale (SAA VII 60; X 160; XVII 112). Contracts even mention that Elamites
were living in Assyria (SAA VI 287); they served in the Assyrian army (SAA XI 139)
and court (SAA VII 149; 152). These examples illustrate that the military conflicts
were only one side of the coin.

AB B REVIATIO NS
ABC Grayson, A.K. 1975. Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. Locust Valley:
Augustin.
ABL Harper, R.F. 1892–1924. Assyrian and Babylonian Letters belonging to the
K(ouyunjik) Collection(s) of the British Museum, 14 vol. Chicago: Univer-
sity of Chicago Press.
Ann Annals of Assyria.
BIWA Borger, R. 1996. Beiträge zum Inschriftenwerk Assurbanipals. Die Prismen-
klassen A, B, C, K, D, E, F, G, H, J und T sowie andere Inschriften. Wies-
baden: Harrassowitz.
PNAE The Prosopography of the Neo-­Assyrian Empire, Helsinki.
RIMA The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Period, Toronto.
RINAP The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-­Assyrian Period, Toronto.
SAA State Archives of Assyria, Helsinki.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Brinkman, J.A. 1968. A Political History of post-­Kassite Babylonia, 1158–1722 B.C., Analecta
Orientalia 33. Roma: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum.
———. 1986. The Elamite-­Babylonian Frontier in the Neo-­Elamite Period, 750–625 B.C. In:
De Meyer, L., Vallat, F. and Gasche, H. (eds.) Fragmenta Historiae Elamicae: Mélanges
offerts à M.J. Steve. Paris: Éditions Recherches sur les Civilisations, 199–207.
Cooley, J.L. 2015. Celestial Divination in Esarhaddon’s Aššur A  Inscription. Journal of the
American Oriental Society 135(1): 131–147.
de Miroschedi, P. 1986. La localisation de Madaktu et l’organisation politique de l’Elam a
l’epoque Neo-­Elamite. In: De Meyer, L., Vallat, F. and Gasche, H. (eds.) Fragmenta Historiae

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 — Elam and Assyria —

Elamicae: Mélanges offerts à M.J. Steve. Paris: Éditions Recherches sur les Civilisations,
209–225.
Dubovský, P. 2006a. Hezekiah and the Assyrian Spies: Reconstruction of the Neo-­Assyrian
Intelligence Services and its Significance for 2 Kings 18–19, Biblica et Orientalia 49. Roma:
Pontificio Istituto Biblico.
———. 2006b. Tiglath-­pileser III’s Campaigns in 734–732 B.C.: Historical Background of Isa
7, 2 Kgs 15–16 and 2 Chr 27–28. Biblica 87: 153–170.
———. 2013. Dynamics of the Fall: Ashurbanipal’s Conquest of Elam. In: de Graef, K. and
Tavernier, J. (eds.) Susa and Elam: Archaeological, Philological, Historical and Geograph-
ical Perspectives: Proceedings of the International Congress Held at Ghent University,
December 14–17, 2009. Leiden – Boston: Brill, 451–470.
Frame, G. 1992. Babylonia 689–627 B.C.: A Political History. Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-­
Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul.
Fuchs, A. 1994. Die Inschriften Sargons II. aus Khorsabad. Göttingen: Cuvillier.
———. 1998. Die Annalen des Jahres 711  v. Chr. nach Prismenfragmenten aus Ninive und
Assur. State Archives of Assyria Studies 8. Helsinki: The Neo-­Assyrian Text Corpus Project.
Gerardi, P. 1987. Assurbanipal’s Elamite Campaigns: A Literary and Political Study. PhD Diss.,
University of Pennsylvania.
Grayson, A.K. 1965. Problematic Battles in Mesopotamian History. In: Jacobsen, T. and Güter-
bock, H. G. (eds.) Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on his Seventy-­fifth Birthday,
April 21, 1965. Chicago, ILL: The University of Chicago Press, 337–342.
Honggeng, G. 2004. The Assyrian Intelligence Activities during the Assyrian Empire. Journal
of Assyrian Academic Studies 18(2): 59–71.
Laato, A.J. 1995. Assyrian Propaganda and the Falsification of History in the Royal Inscrip-
tions of Sennacherib. Vetus Testamentum 45(2): 198–226.
Potts, D.T. 1999. The Archaeology of Elam: Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Ira-
nian State, Cambridge World Archaeology. Cambridge, New York: Cambridge University
Press.
Waters, M.W. 2000. A Survey of Neo-­Elamite History. State Archives of Assyria Studies 12.
Helsinki: Neo-­Assyrian Text Corpus Project.
———. 1999. Teʾumman in the Neo-­Assyrian Correspondence. Journal of the American Ori-
ental Society 119(3): 473–477.
———. 2002. A  Letter from Ashurbanipal to the Elders of Elam (BM 132980). Journal of
Cuneiform Studies 54: 79–86.
Weidner, E. 1954/55. Hochverrat gegen Nabukadnezzar II. Archiv für Orientforschung 17:
1–9.

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 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PROPAGANDA AND SYMBOLISM

Representations of the Elamites at the
time of Ashurbanipal 1

Shahrokh Razmjou

INTRODU CTIO N
The period between the years 653 and 609 BC marks the end of an old era and
the beginning of a new one in the history of the ancient Middle East. As a result
of the events that took place over fewer than 45 years, both the Elamite and Assyrian
civilizations were brought into decline. After a disastrous defeat by the Assyrians,
Elam managed to survive and rise again from the ashes and continued to endure into
the Persian period, while the collapse of the mighty Assyrian empire was definitive.
Although numerous historical events remain ambiguous due to the scanty avail-
able documentation, the defeat of Elam, a traditional rival of Mesopotamia, was
surprisingly well documented by the Assyrians. The Elamites were depicted in great
detail during the reign of the Assyrian king Ashurbanipal (668–c.630 BC), both
in iconographical and written sources, and there are very few similar cases where
we have such correspondence between iconographical, textual and archaeological
evidence. The reason for this was not historiographical; rather the Assyrian king
sought to show off by commemorating the defeat of Elam, the traditional rival of
Mesopotamia, as his utmost achievement.
The events were carefully illustrated on stone by artists and sculptors employed
by the Assyrian court, while the scribes recorded descriptions for those illustrations,
both as captions and in clay tablets. Evidently, due to the limited space inside Assyr-
ian palaces, including the Palace of Sennacherib, some of the events were carved
over older reliefs by eliminating the original carvings.2 Most of the exhibited events
appear biased in favour of the Assyrians who commissioned the work according to
the king’s desire. Clearly, the Elamite defeats and destructions were not carried out
on the devastating scale described by Ashurbanipal, but it dramatically weakened the
power of Elam as a political and military power (Vallat 1998: 310–311). Sadly, no
evidence for the Elamite version of the story has been found to counterbalance the
strong anti-­Elamite propaganda. In spite of its biased tone, the Assyrian propaganda
machine assigned a special place on their palace walls to Elam, allowing us to obtain
a better image of the Elamites in the mid-­7th century BC.

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BACKGROUND OF THE G RE AT
BATTLE AND AF TE RM ATH
In 653 BC,3 following a series of events, the army of Ashurbanipal confronted
Elam in battle. According to his records, Teumman,4 king of Elam (664–653
BC), had mustered his army and marched against Assyria with the insolent mes-
sage: “I shall not give up until I come and make war on him” (Luckenbill 1927:
331–332; Gerardi 1987: 136; Potts 1999: 277).5 Thus, with Teumman’s army
approaching and after receiving an approving oracle from the Assyrian divinities,
Ashurbanipal marched against the Elamites (Luckenbill 1927: 332). The location
of their battle at Til-­Tuba, on the banks of the river Ulai (probably Karkheh River)
shows that, contrary to Ashurbanipal’s claims, the Elamites had confronted the
Assyrians in their own territory.6 Here, the Elamites experienced a horrific defeat;
they were massacred and thrown into the river while Teumman and his son were
beheaded. Ashurbanipal installed a refuge Elamite prince, Ummanigash (653?–
652 BC),7 as the new king of Elam. He also turned against the Assyrian rulers, but
was murdered shortly afterwards.
Now Elam apparently became politically unstable, with several rulers ascending the
throne in a short period of time. The chaotic situation and the continuous revolts led
to further campaigns by Ashurbanipal against Elam and to the destruction of Elamite
towns on a massive scale. In particular, Ashurbanipal records that the renowned
ancient city of Susa was eliminated from the face of earth (Luckenbill 1927: 310–311).

REPRESENTATIONS OF THE E L AM ITE S

It has been suggested that some of the reliefs from the time of Sennacherib (705–681
BC) depict his campaign against Elam and deportation of its people (Reade 1976:
97). There are also figures in the reliefs depicting the siege of Lachish that have been
identified as possible ‘Elamite’ archers (Reade 1976: 99). Their garments have vertical
folds along the lower part comparable with the Elamite dress seen later in Ashur-
banipal’s reliefs. However, these interpretations remain uncertain due to the lack of
supporting textual evidence.
The first undisputed Elamite representations are from the time of Ashurbanipal,
where their identity is confirmed by numerous epigraphs and corresponding reports in
the royal annals. The Elamites are the main subject of many reliefs of Ashurbanipal, who
prioritized his victories against Elam even over his Babylonian conquests.8 The huge
carved stone slabs decorating the inner walls of the palaces in Nineveh join together to
form an entire image representing different scenes and events related to these victories.
These highly detailed compositions, mainly representing the battlefield, are full of activ-
ity, with minimal unused, empty space, and their main theme is the humiliation of the
Elamites, the Elamite royal house in particular, in the most brutal ways. A range of ordi-
nary people, soldiers, nobles, musicians, entourage, women and children are portrayed,
but from the hundreds of depicted figures, the main concentration is on the Elamite
kings. Apparently, the victory was incomplete without showing their unfortunate fate.
The Elamites are mostly shown in misery and despair or pleading for mercy, as
prisoners or deportees, the corpses left in the battlefield or floating in the river. The

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only “joyful” scene is the introduction of Ummanigash, installed by Ashurbanipal as

a puppet king (Russell 1999: 160). Here the Elamites are shown celebrating; clapping
hands, playing music and even performing hand-­operated ululation [Figure  17.1,
top]. Although this looks like a happy scene, it is antithetical to its true context:
right under the feet of the joyful Elamite crowd, the corpses of the Elamites and their
horses float away down the river.9 The juxtaposition of these two contrasting scenes

Figure 17.1  top: Elamites rejoicing next to a river filled with bodies
from the battle of Til-­Tuba, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh;
bottom: Elamite envoys Umbadara and Nabu-­damiq at the Assyrian
court, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (photos by Sh. Razmjou).

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

seems deliberate; it appears as a dreadful dark joke, which perhaps looked entertain-
ing to Ashurbanipal (J. Reade pers. comm.).
Throughout the reliefs, different scales and canons are used to represent the
Elamites. In a number of scenes, the Elamites are depicted shorter than the Assyrians,
obese and out of scale. The Elamite envoys Umbadara and Nabu-­damiq who stand
before Ashurbanipal [Figure 17.1, bottom], are also depicted in the same way.10 Some
of the Elamites’ faces, including one of the envoys and a floating body in the river,
are wrought with features differing considerably from those of ordinary Elamites.
Non-­standard physical treatment was also applied to other unfavourable foreign fig-
ures such as the Urartian envoys, who are depicted remarkably shorter and slightly
hunched with big noses. A similar style is also used for Teumman. He is never shown
standing upright in the existing scenes.
Although the reliefs portray a wide range of Elamite figures, they can gen-
erally be divided into four main categories which will be individually treated
below: the soldiers and warriors; the people; the nobles and elites; and the
kings.

T HE ELAMITE SOLDIERS AND WARRIO RS

Elamite troops are either shown as defenders inside fortifications or as warriors in
the battlefield. Ashurbanipal himself describes the Elamite army: “. . . the chiefs of
the bowmen (archers), the ‘second’ (-men of the chariots), the drivers (lit., holders
of the reins), the ‘third’-riders(?) (of the chariots), the horsemen, the (light-­armed?)
bowmen, the captains and (heavy-­armed) bowmen of the whole army . . .” (Lucken-
bill 1927: 310–311). In the reliefs they are shown as infantry, cavalry and charioteers,
but the warriors generally look alike and it is hard to differentiate them, as almost
all have the same dress and weaponry. For example, in the relief showing the siege of
Hamanu, the defenders are barefoot and wearing the same outfit and headband as
the Elamites in the battlefield.
In the Til-­Tuba battle scenes, all Elamites except Teumman are barefoot, wearing
only a short-­sleeved, often knee-­length, belted tunic with V-shaped collar and a
simple headband (Potts 1999: 277). They wear no protective gear and are armed
only with bows and arrows, and an occasional sword tucked under the belt. This is
in clear contrast with the fully equipped Assyrian soldiers, who have body armour,
helmets, well-­ made foot-­ gear, round or tall shields, bows and arrows, spears,
swords, maces and double-­side axes. The Elamite carts, pulled mostly by mules,
had to confront heavily armoured Assyrian chariots with strong horses and cavalry.
The Elamite warriors are shown either on the run, wounded, about to be killed or
already killed.
In another relief, a group of Elamite archers are shown moving in a hurry: it is not
clear whether they are fleeing or if they are allies helping the Assyrians (Reade 1976:
102). In any case, the most striking image is of a child with a bow and quiver sitting
on a cart; an underage fighter being taken to an unknown destination [Figure 17.2,
bottom]. It seems that some of the artists or sculptors had a degree of freedom to
express some sympathy towards the Elamites.

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 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

Figure 17.2  top: Elamite prisoners marching, Room F, North Palace, Nineveh; bottom:
A child with bow and quiver among Elamite troops, North Palace, Nineveh (photos by
Sh. Razmjou).

THE ELAMIT E P E O P L E
The Ashurbanipal reliefs are also the major source for the depiction of the Elamite
people and their towns and settlements, although mostly they are represented in con-
nection with military campaigns and the fall of their cities. They are mostly captives
or deportees, often shown marching in rows, carrying their possessions with them.
Despite the ruthless nature of the illustrations, small signs of sympathetic senti-
ment can again be noted. The relief of the siege of Hamanu is a good example. The
Elamite men and women are shown walking in rows, carrying their children and pos-
sessions with them under the watch of the Assyrian guards. Some of the higher-­class
Elamite women are shown with different hairstyles and elegant dresses, walking as if

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it were not an unpleasant occasion [Figure 17.2, top]. Some hold or breastfeed their
babies as they walk. Other women, dressed less elaborately and sometimes wearing
veils, may represent ordinary Elamite women. Generally, the Elamite men and women
move more normally, in clear contrast with some of the men who are shown out in
front, taken forcefully and being beaten and humiliated. Some of them shown in the
related scenes have fetters on their feet, with both hands raised as a sign of pleading.
Next to the walking people, the sculptor has shown other Elamite men and women
hidden in reed marshes. One of the men appears to be whispering, perhaps in fear of
being heard by the Assyrians. These reliefs of the captives and refugees seem to be the
most natural and sincere presentations of the Elamite people.

THE ELAMITE NOB L E S AND E L ITE

The Elamite nobles and elite were not spared from humiliation. It can be difficult to
distinguish them from the rest of the Elamite people, as they are mostly represented
in the same way, but they seem to have slightly longer garments, shorter in front and
occasionally with some vertical folds (e.g. the dresses of Ituni and Urtaki in the Til-­
Tuba reliefs). Apparently, in addition to their bows and arrows, some of the elite were
also armed with a sword in the battlefield. Ituni (the šūt rēši), one of the officials of
Teumman who is depicted twice, once in the main battle scene and once on a sepa-
rate slab (WA 124941), is shown cutting off his bow as a sign of accepting the defeat
(Gerardi 1988: 22; Russell 1999: 160). His dress is similar to the other Elamites,
except in the main slab, with two defined rows of vertical folds held up under the belt,
comparable with the assumed Elamite figures in Sennacherib reliefs and reminiscent
of later Persian folded garments known as Persian court dress (seen, for example, on
the statue of Darius from Susa). He is distinguished only by these minor details and
a textual reference; otherwise his appearance is much like that of the other men in
the battle scene.
Not all nobles seem to be armed with swords. Urtaki, a relative of Teumman, who
was injured by two arrows in the battle, is shown begging an Assyrian to cut off his
head (Gerardi 1988: 30; Russell 1999: 160). With a quiver at his back but no sword,
he was unable to perform the act of cutting the bow or even of committing sui-
cide. Without the accompanying inscription Urtaki would appear to be an ordinary
wounded warrior, as he wears the same garment and headdress as the other Elamites.
Even Tammaritu, the eldest son of Teumman, who accompanies his father, wears
nothing different from the other soldiers and is armed only with the same bow and
quiver. According to Ashurbanipal, during their escape he “tore his garment” (Russell
1999: 159) suggesting that perhaps he wore a different garment to the ordinary Elamite
outfit shown on the reliefs in four scenes. This ordinary outfit seems to have been the
regular garment worn in daily life and at war. The only difference being the V-shaped,
bordered collar. A similar design can be seen on the dresses of three Elamites, probably
nobles, who help the Assyrians identify severed heads from the battle, including the
head of Teumman. Their garment also has vertical stripes on the arm and shoulder.
Unfortunately, there is no evidence for colour and designs on these outfits.
It is not known whether Elamite nobles and soldiers had actually possessed
armour and more advanced war equipment, and their portrayal in a primitive and
inferior state was merely the invention of Assyrian propaganda. In the parade scene

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Figure 17.3  top: An Elamite with his Elamite style sword

submits to the newly installed king Ummanigash, Room 33,
Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom: Elamite female musicians,
Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh (photos by Sh. Razmjou).

of introducing Ummanigash, the receiving elites and nobles of Elam are shown kneel-
ing before the newly installed king and his Assyrian escorts. Some of those in the
front seem to have slightly longer dresses than the others (like Teumman’s envoys),
similar to those dresses worn in the battlefield. Here, in addition to their bows and
quivers, they have another type of weapon tucked under their belt [Figure 17.3, top].
At first glance these look like axes, but in fact they are short swords. This type of
sword had an extension on one side of the locket that enabled it to be held over the
belt. More than a century later the Elamite delegation would be shown bringing this
type of sword to the Persian king at Persepolis. The Persians used a similar sword,
the best example of which is depicted on the Egyptian statue of Darius from Susa.11
The envoys of Teumman, Umbadara and Nabu-­damiq, who Ashurbanipal refer to
as “nobles” (Russell 1999: 160), also wear long garments, and they have something
that looks like a whip under their belt, perhaps a sign of their diplomatic status
(Reade 1976: 100) [see Figure 17.1, bottom]. According to Ashurbanipal, when see-
ing the severed head of their king, “Nabu-­damiq stabbed himself with the iron dagger

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

at his belt” and Umbadara “tore at his beard” (Russell 1999: 160), yet in the relief
they are shown with neither swords nor beards, which is in contradiction with the
epigraph12
It is not clear why only a few Elamites are shown with swords in the battle of Til-­
Tuba, and why they do not use them in battle, even in man-­to-­man combat, while the
Assyrians use theirs. The Elamites carry the swords unused in the battlefield, exactly
like those Elamites at Ummanigash’s introduction ceremony. The assumption that
most Elamites were either deliberately deprived of their swords in the battle scene
or were not using them corresponds with the absence of injured or dead Assyrians
in any of the reliefs, and presumably reflects an Assyrian propagandistic method of
illustrating one-­sided events. The one exceptional case of an Elamite putting a sword
to use is that of Ituni, who enacts the cutting of his bow, and thus the presence of a
sword was required because of the theme.
Some of the aforementioned Elamite women portrayed on the reliefs clearly have
more elaborate garments than others and varying hairstyles, suggesting they might
have belonged to the upper class or even noble families. According to Ashurbanipal’s
accounts, he had deported many women with him to Assyria, including those from
royal and noble families.13 It is not clear if the female Elamite musicians with elabo-
rate necklaces and hairstyles shown celebrating the installation of Ummanigash also
belonged to the same class or not. [Figure 17.3, bottom].

THE ELAMITE KING S

The representations centre on the fate of Elamite kings, particularly of Teumman. All
Elamite kings represented in the reliefs are dressed similarly, having the round-­shaped
royal hat, a long garment and elegant shoes. Since they all look very much alike,
except for certain minute details, the identity of those not identified by inscriptions is
uncertain in some reliefs.

Teumman
Teumman is depicted in reliefs more often than any other king and can be easily
identified as the main character of the story. Despised by Ashurbanipal as “the image
of a devil” (Luckenbill 1927: 330), an attempt is made both in texts and reliefs to
portray Teumman in a way that befits this image.14 He is shown at least four times in
the remaining reliefs at the centre of the battle of Til-­Tuba, and afterwards his severed
head is depicted being carried across the battlefield to the banquet of Ashurbanipal
(Bahrani 2004; Bonatz 2004).
The storyline of Teumman in the Til-­Tuba battle is not displayed in a sequential
order, but the main narrative can be followed through the crowded scenes.15 Due
to the breakage of the reliefs and missing fragments, it is not known whether there
were earlier depictions of Teumman, but we enter his story in the midst of bat-
tle, where he has fallen under his chariot and is injured by an arrow [Figure 17.4,
top].16 He is then shown fleeing to the woods, aided by his son Tammaritu. In the
following scene, he is portrayed kneeling on the ground, encouraging Tammaritu
to pick up his bow and fight back (Gerardi 1988: 30; Russell 1999: 159),17 and
finally he is shown fallen below the headless body of Tammaritu, being decapitated

347
 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

Figure 17.4  top: Teumman and his son injured under their wrecked chariot, Room 33,
Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom: An Assyrian soldier decapitating Teumman, Room 33,
Southwest Palace, Nineveh (photos by Sh. Razmjou).

by an Assyrian soldier [Figure 17.4, bottom]. After this scene, his severed head is
shown several times, including hanging from the necks of captured enemies such as
Dunanu, until its final appearance in the banquet scene of Ashurbanipal where it
hangs from a tree.
Teumman can be easily distinguished from the other Elamites in the battle scene
because of his face, thick eyebrows, and clothing: he wears a round-­shaped hat with a
hanging feather-­like tail and is attired in a long royal garment decorated with tasselled
borders and rosettes, which seems to be an official garment of the Neo-­Elamite kings
(Álvarez-­Mon 2009a; 2010: 222, 223, 228, Figs. 28–29, 30–34, 44). His hat falls off
his head twice, first during the chariot incident and then during his decapitation. In the

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

latter scene, an Assyrian soldier is shown picking it up from the ground and it is not
known where it was taken. The falling of a hat or crown was humiliating for a royal
persona (Razmjou 2008: 126); but this happening twice was even worse. The revealing
of his balding head or receding hairline was perhaps intended to add to the disgrace.
Teumman’s royal garment is reminiscent of the textiles found in the tomb at Arjan
(Mo’taqed 1990; Álvarez-­Mon 2009a: 4, 5, Figure 1) and seen on the four-­winged
mythical figure at Pasargadae in the Achaemenid period. All Elamite kings in the
reliefs are dressed in the same garments, distinguishing them from ordinary Elamites.
These types of garments seem to be also used by the Babylonian royal members.18
This suggests that the garment Teumman’s son tore from his body during the battle
before escaping to the woods might also have been similar.
Teumman is never shown as a true king in all his glory and elegance. Rather, he is
illustrated on the same scale as the other individuals in the battle scene and is always
portrayed in despair, either crushed under his chariot, fleeing with an arrow in his
body, hiding helplessly, kneeling, fallen on the ground or being beheaded. The lack of
any depiction of him standing upright in the preserved scenes seems deliberate. When
his head is carried away to Assyria for use in a sadistic manner as propaganda tool,
we can observe its gradual deterioration. Although some of the changes could partly
relate to variations in the styles of different sculptors or to an inability to carve an
upside-­down head, a clear intent to make the head more hideous and deformed can
be seen in its stylistic treatment.19 Clearly the artists had to follow the king’s taste for
representing Teumman’s humiliation and to give a terrifying warning to viewers of
their likely fate if they were to oppose the might of Assyria.
Even though both the texts and reliefs portray Teumman in misery and despair,
they perhaps unwillingly clarify that despite his injuries he bravely resisted alone with
his son, trying to fight back the Assyrians up to the last moment without showing any
sign of surrender. Unlike certain other Elamite kings, they are not shown pleading for
mercy, despite knowing all hope was lost.

Ummanigash (II)
After Teumman, Ummanigash was installed by Ashurbanipal as the new king of
Elam. In his introduction scene, he is led by an Assyrian officer who holds his hand,
facing a group of kneeling and rejoicing Elamites. Here Ummanigash is introduced
as king, yet he is not depicted as a royal Figure He does not wear the royal Elamite
attire but a short-­sleeved garment, without tasselled border or rosettes, that reaches
his feet [Figure 17.5, top]. He also has the regular Elamite headband instead of the
royal hat. In clear contrast to the confident, upright pose of the Assyrians in the scene,
Ummanigash bends slightly forward with one hand raised. It is clear that there was
no intention to represent him as a powerful king; in fact, he is depicted rather more
like a pleading captive. Here the designers may be stressing the point that he was an
installed puppet king.

Ummanaldash (III): symbolism in the capture scene

The capture of Ummanaldash20 (646? BC) is depicted on a single wall panel with an
accompanying inscription. This relief (British Museum no. WA 124793) was found

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 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

Figure 17.5  top: Ummanigash introduced as new king to

the Elamites by an Assyrian official, Room 33, Southwest
Palace, Nineveh; bottom: The capture scene of Ummanaldash,
Southwest Palace, Nineveh (photos by Sh. Razmjou).

by Rassam out of its original context, but seems to be part of a missing composition
from a series of reliefs in the North Palace of Nineveh (Curtis and Reade 1995: 80,
no. 24).21 Thus, it is not clear what the other reliefs had represented before and after
this scene.
According to Ashurbanipal, Ummanaldash took refuge in the mountains, possibly
in the Luristan region, but was handed over to the Assyrians by the mountaineers
who did not wish the presence of the fugitive king to provoke an Assyrian cam-
paign against their territory. The scaled pattern of the ground in the scene probably
represents the mountainous area. The relief shows Ummanaldash wearing his royal
Elamite dress and the round-­shaped royal hat, similar to Teumman’s. An Assyrian
takes him by the wrist, heading downhill towards a prepared chariot, and three
other surrendered Elamites, perhaps the king’s entourage, walk in front of him with
their hands raised in a pleading gesture. [Figure 17.5, bottom] Ummanaldash shows

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

no resistance, but turns around with a raised hand to address the person behind
him who had delivered him to the Assyrians.22 His reaction is not mentioned in the
accompanying text (for which see Gerardi 1988: 23), nor in other inscriptions, so we
cannot know if he was begging for help in despair, complaining, or cursing them for
their inhospitable act in surrendering him to the Assyrians. On the right side of the
relief, the Assyrian captors are shown lifting Ummanaldash into a chariot by force to
be taken to Ashurbanipal.
It is clear that this scene was not part of the original carving on the slab. The orig-
inal scene was fully removed and replaced by the capture scene of Ummanaldash as
a new design.23 Apparently, the theme of the capture of an Elamite king was more
important than in the previous carvings. Based on the evidence, this relief was not the
only slab subject to re-­carving. Many others had been chiselled off to be replaced by
new scenes of Ashurbanipal’s victories over Elam, demonstrating the special impor-
tance of this subject.
At first glance the rest of the scene seems to display a simple natural landscape
with trees and animals, yet certain other elements with significant symbolism are
embedded in the scene. The most visible of these is an animal hunting scene in the
bottom left corner. It had been previously identified as a lioness slowly moving
towards a mountain goat from behind a tree; however, a closer examination by the
author showed faint, shallow spots on the body of the predator, which make it a leop-
ard, not a lioness [Figure 17.6, top]. The other animal is probably a wild goat (Capra
aegagrus?), common in the Zagros Mountains. These animals may seem irrelevant to
the main story, but here it will be argued that this is not the case.
Directly above the hunting scene is a very small stream of water shown by a nar-
row and shallow carving, making it even harder to see. The stream starts in front of
the broken figure of the mountaineer who has just handed over Ummanaldash to the
Assyrians. The stream moves downwards and stops in the middle area, with two tiny
fish inside. Like the hunting scene, the stream does not seem to be merely a simple
stream of water with swimming fish, mainly because of its size (between 0.8 and 2 cm
wide) and its shallow carving, which make it significantly hidden. Both fish are swim-
ming upwards and face the mountaineer; the same figure that Ummanaldash faces.
At the end of the stream, the water pattern seems to assume a peculiar shape like
a hand (?) with fingers, holding a fish. An even closer examination shows that on the
water pattern next to the fish is a tiny, delicately carved circle (about 1 mm.) that
looks like an eye [Figure 17.6, bottom]. Altogether this composition shows a figure
that resembles the head of a snake catching a fish. A similar pattern in the shape of a
snake can be seen next to the other fish.24 At this point, even if the hand-­like stream
had not been a deliberate pattern but was due to damage to the stone, there is no
doubt that the tiny circle (eye?) is a deliberate carving that would not be expected on
a wavy water pattern.
I agree with Reade who has suggested that “there may be symbolism here” (Curtis
and Reade 1995: 80). The leopard and the stream with fish might appear to be sim-
ple decorative elements used to fill empty parts of the scene, but they seem instead to
serve as metaphors with subtle symbolic messages, as some carvings are too small to
have a mere decorative purpose.25 Perhaps they had a magical purpose and did not
need to be seen, since the stream and fish (about 1.7 cm.) are so small and even if
they were painted would still be hardly visible.26 This stream is different than other

351
 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

Figure 17.6  top: Crouching leopard with spots, Southwest Palace, Nineveh; bottom: Water
stream with fish and snake(?), depicted on the capture scene of Ummanaldash, Southwest
Palace, Nineveh (photos by Sh. Razmjou).

streams, which are often shown as a part of the scenery. It is not always easy to
interpret metaphors, but there seems to be a certain level of understanding here. The
messages conveyed by the elements in this relief are catching a goat, catching a fish,
and catching an Elamite king. In fact, the water, the hand(?), the snake, the leopard
and the Assyrians are the hunters, whereas the goat, the fish and Ummanaldash are
the hunted subjects. The hunters might have been a metaphor for Ashurbanipal, who
was not there himself.27 He occasionally refers to his hand catching the fleeing kings
while he was not present. In particular, when referring to the capture of Ummanal-
dash and other Elamite kings, he uses the phrase: “. . . my hand captured them . . .”
(Luckenbill 1927: 383).
Assyrian kings also use fish as a metaphor to refer to their fleeing enemy, or in fact,
the hunted subject. This expression is employed a few times by Esarhaddon in his
annals. In the campaign against Sidon, he describes how he caught his enemy (king
of Sidon) like a fish:

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

“Abdi-­Milkutti, its king, who had fled before my arms into the midst of the sea, I pulled
out of the sea, like a fish. I cut off his head” (Luckenbill 1927: 211: 527; also 205, 273).
In fact, a comparison with fish is also made by Ashurbanipal in reference to this
particular campaign against Ummanaldash and his rebel successor, and may explain
the depiction of the stream and fish in the relief:28
“Ummanaldasi, king of Elam, heard of the entrance of my armies into the midst
of Elam, forsook Madaktu, his royal city, fled and went up into the (lit., his) moun-
tain(s). Umbahabua, who, . . . had seated himself on the throne of Elam in place of
Ummanaldasi, heard, like that one, (of my invasion), forsook Bubilu, the city that
was his royal seat, and like a fish betook (himself) to the depth of the distant waters”
(Luckenbill 1927: 306; Potts 1999: 283; Waters 2000: 75).
The scene with two fishes, one being caught by the snake, might have been a
reference to these two kings, one of whom is fleeing and one being caught. This
Assyrian expression for fleeing enemies may also explain the water stream in front
of Ummanaldash. By inserting a small stream into the scene, the artist was able to
illustrate all the relevant elements along with their embedded meanings together.
The hunting snake also demands consideration. The snake was a divine symbol in
Neo-­Assyrian art and in ritual texts can be identified as the snake god Nirah (Black
and Green 1992: 168).29 If not intended here as a depiction of a particular deity, it
might have represented a powerful fish-­hunter in the water, a metaphor for the enemy-­
catching king. The snake was apparently the best choice for a fish-­hunter in water.
It is not clear why a leopard has been used as a metaphor,30 but it was probably
deemed suitable as a fierce and swift hunter. We can also consider that such reliefs
were subject to reworking. Perhaps a lion or lioness was originally designed, as the
body anatomically resembles a lion, but the artist later removed the mane (if pres-
ent)31 and added spots to convert it into a leopard. The lion was a symbol of Ishtar
in Mesopotamia and also represented šarru=king (Reade and Finkel 1996: 249), but
the lion and lioness were also related to Elam (Root 2003). Apparently lions had been
present in the Elamite territory of south-­western Iran and in the Persepolis reliefs the
Elamites are the only delegation to bring a lioness with two lion cubs, alongside bows
and Elamite swords.32 It has been suggested that this might have been an Elamite
court tradition for merging Elamite and Persian courts (Root 2003: 20).
It is also known that Ashurbanipal’s lion hunting had a strong symbolism. Although
he hunts “for pleasure” or “sport” (Gerardi 1988: 26; Russell 1999: 201–202), he
also relates the lions to the mountains by calling them a fierce mountain breed (Luck-
enbill 1927: 392),33 which may refer to eastern mountains of Elam. It is interesting
to note that the other two animal breeds hunted by Ashurbanipal in his hunting
reliefs are wild asses and gazelles; precisely the two types of species he mentioned
when referring to the wildlife of the plains of Susa (Luckenbill 1927: 311). Ashurba-
nipal pours wine on the hunted lions in exactly the same way he pours a libation of
wine over the head of Teumman at the gates of Nineveh. Thus, an omen delivered to
Ashurbanipal comes to fulfilment: “the head of your enemies you shall cut off, you
should pour wine over them (Luckenbill 1927: 396; Bonatz 2004: 98).
This connection between Elamite rulers and lions is underlined in a hunting
scene of Ashurbanipal, where lion, bows and Elamites are all depicted together. In
this scene a lion is being released from a cage heading towards an Elamite royal
family member, who is kneeling in front of Ashurbanipal in a pleading posture,

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with a pile of bows in front of him [Figure  17.7, top]. Ashurbanipal shoots the
approaching lion with a bow, probably the same “fierce bow of Ishtar” that he
holds in the ceremony for the hunted lions (Russell 1999: 202).34 The bow seems
to be the captured Elamite bow dedicated by Ashurbanipal to Ishtar. This might
have been a symbolic act to stress the superiority of the Assyrian power over the

Figure 17.7  top: An Elamite royal member pleading to Ashurbanipal for protection from
an approaching lion, Room S (Panel 10), North Palace, Nineveh; bottom: Two Elamite kings
being forced to serve Ashurbanipal, fallen into Room S, North Palace, Nineveh
(photos by Sh. Razmjou).

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

famous Elamite weapon. The scene demonstrates the humiliation of the Elamite
royal figure, unable to defend himself against the approaching lion, while pleading
for Ashurbanipal’s protection. Even in reality, the presence of an unarmed Elamite
prince in the lion hunt being exposed to a lion attack was not usual and most prob-
ably had symbolic meaning.

Other Elamite kings

We know that Ashurbanipal held four Elamite kings as captives in Nineveh. He refers
to Ummanigash,35 Tammaritu, Pa’e, who used the title “king of Elam” at Bīt-­imbi,
and Ummanaldash, “who exercised sovereignty over Elam after Teuman, -at his (god
Nabu) mighty word my hand captured them and I yoked them to my coach, my royal
vehicle” (Luckenbill 1927: 383, also 312, 320). One of the Elamite kings is depicted
on a relief showing the aftermath of the fall of Babylon and the burning of an Elamite
city, probably Susa. He wears the royal Elamite garment and round-­shaped hat, and
raises both hands. He faces Ashurbanipal, who is shown in a larger scale in his char-
iot inspecting booty from Babylon and Susa and the marching deportees. The name
of the Elamite king is not mentioned, but he has been confidently identified as Tam-
maritu II, the refugee king of Elam (Reade 1976: 103).
Two other captive kings are depicted in the banquet scene series [Figure 17.7, bot-
tom], but because of the damaged inscription their names are not known. It is also not
clear why only two Elamite kings are portrayed here, although other captive king(s)
may also have been represented on the missing slabs (Álvarez-­Mon 2009b). Both
Elamite kings are shown in their royal dress and hat, carrying items to serve Ashurba-
nipal who rests on a bed in his garden, drinking wine with his queen as the musicians
play.36 The royal hats of the captive kings have a similar band with two rows of squares
with a neck flap and an extension hanging down the back. Their garments look very
much alike, but their facial features differentiate them. The first king has obvious wrin-
kles and eye bags indicating his more advanced age [Figure 17.8, top]. His wrinkled
nose and raised eyebrows may be taken as a pleading expression. The same wrinkled
nose is also used for other individuals, mostly desperate figures like Ummanigash and
the Uratian envoys. The older figure has a shorter rounded beard, in contrast with the
second captive king, who has a rectangular beard and a smooth, unlined face. This
second king could be Ummanaldash, who is shown in the capture scene with a rectan-
gular beard.37 The older figure bears some resemblance to the Elamite king, suggested
to be Tammaritu in the relief showing the burning of Susa. Without more evidence for
the two captive kings, it is difficult to identify them with certainty.

THE HACK M ARKS

Ashurbanipal died in 630 BC, and the Assyrian empire collapsed only 18  years
after his death.38 Apparently, his major efforts and concentration on defeating the
Elamites also had disastrous consequences for Assyria. His continuous campaigning
against Elam and other neighbouring rebels, such as Arabia, gave other enemies like
the Medes an opportunity to reorganize and prepare themselves against Assyria. The
allied Median and Babylonian armies captured the Assyrian capital of Nineveh in 612
BC, and the Assyrian palaces fell into the hands of the coalition forces, who enacted
revenge against the Assyrian monarchs by hacking away at their images on the reliefs.

355
 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

Figure 17.8  top: Detail of the Elamite king with his round-­shaped royal hat, North Palace,
Nineveh; bottom: Hack marks made over Assyrian soldier to stop him from
killing Tammaritu, Room 33, Southwest Palace, Nineveh
(photos by Sh. Razmjou).

The study of these hack marks and the ideology behind them is fascinating, and a
series of hack marks on the reliefs related to the Elamite campaigns are particularly
informative. A number of the defacements seem to indicate some level of sympathy
for the Elamites. For example, there are clear marks on the face of the installed king
Ummanigash [See Figure 17.5]. The first Elamite in front of him, who holds the foot
of the Assyrian officer introducing Ummanigash,39 and the first Elamites kneeling

356
 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

before Ashurbanipal’s horse were also defaced (Reade 1992: 88). This suggests that
some of the attackers were aware of the identity of these figures and considered their
submission to the yoke of Assyria as a betrayal, whereas the faces of the Assyrians
in the same scene are not damaged at all. Perhaps certain individuals were able to
read cuneiform, but the captions do not contain such details about unnamed figures.
The attackers must have been well aware of these events from somewhere else that
enabled them to identify certain scenes and characters.
In the Til-­Tuba reliefs, the hack marks are focused on the Assyrian troops who
attacked Teumman and his son. The spears held against them are clearly damaged, as
are the arms and faces of their killers [Figure 17.8, bottom]. The soldier who laid a foot
over Teumman’s hand to decapitate him had his foot chopped off (Reade 1976: 105).
The figure who carried Teumman’s severed head has also been defaced and his hand
has been hacked. This targeted defacement suggests a respect and sympathy for Teum-
man and his son, and an intention to end the perpetual violence enacted against them.
Although some of the damage has been restored at the British Museum, the traces of
hacking are still visible and can be differentiated from non-­deliberate or natural damage.
The lion hunting scenes have also been subject to hacking and defacement. In these
scenes most of Ashurbanipal’s images have been hacked and his eyes in particular
were targeted, perhaps with the intention to blind him during the lion hunt. The
damage is not limited to his face; it extends also to his hands and his bow and arrow.
In one scene his arm and hand are cut off to stop him from piercing a lion with his
sword. In another, the tail of a lion is chopped off to release it from Ashurbanipal’s
grip. In this scene the king’s upper body is also destroyed. These non-­random hack-
ings show that they had not been performed for fun, but with a mentality behind
them. They also confirm some kind of symbolic connection between lions and Elam.
It is difficult to believe that the Median or Babylonian troops would feel such emo-
tion towards the Elamite kings. The Babylonians had their own reasons to hate Assyria,
but the targeted hackings in scenes directly related to the Elamites might have been
performed by Elamite hands, strongly suggesting their involvement in the alliance.40
As the invading armies would not have had the sympathy, information or motivation
to perform such an act of revenge for the Elamites, it is even possible that the damages
might have been inflicted by those noble or royal Elamite individuals who were residing
in Nineveh as captives, awaiting for the right moment to revenge. Considering the time-­
period, it is certainly possible that some Elamites who had personally remembered or
even experienced the Assyrian campaigns and Elam’s devastation were present at the fall
of Nineveh. Now it was time for the Elamites with ample motivation to deface Ashur-
banipal and to cut off his hands to avenge the crimes he had committed against Elam.

NOTE S
1 These reliefs are located in the British Museum, and the present chapter is part of a
research project sponsored by the British Institute of Persian Studies and the University of
Tehran in 2014. I am grateful for their sponsorship and also to the Trustees of the British
Museum for this opportunity.
2 There are traces of original carvings in some of the reliefs. Some of them have been copied
by the author. See also Reade 2000; Razmjou, study in progress.
3 Julian Reade (pers. comm.) suggests an earlier date (663 BC) for the Til-­Tuba campaign.

357
 — Shahrokh Razmjou —

4 Teumman is the Assyrian rendering of Tepti-­Humban-­Inshushinak.

5 For the reasons and justifications of Ashurbanipal to make war on Elam, see Russell 1999:
164.
6 This was also mentioned indirectly in Ashurbanipal’s inscriptions: “Tammaritu, king of
Elam, . . . saying: Will they cut off the head of the king of Elam in his (own) land and in
the presence of his troops?” (Luckenbill 1927: 303).
7 Assyrian rendering of Humban-­nikash.
8 Slabs 1–6, Room 33, South West Palace and slabs 5–9, Room 1, North Palace in Nineveh
(Bonatz 2004: 93).
9 According to Ashurbanipal: “I dammed up the River Ulai with the bodies of the warriors
and people of Elam. For three days I  made that stream flow full of bodies instead of
water.” (Russell 1999: 159).
10 Although the envoy’s faces seem to be partly reconstructed in the British Museum, the
outline of the faces and their bodies still represents a different standard.
11 On the statue of Darius, it is shown with decorative winged bulls (Stronach 1974: 62, 67,
Pl. XXV, Figure 24; Razmjou 2002: 95, Figure 17).
12 The lack of beard might be related to the contemporary reconstructions of the reliefs, but
it is clear that they do not have any swords.
13 “The daughters, of the kings, the sisters of the kings, together with the older and younger
(lit. earlier and later) (members) of the families of the Elamite kings, . . . the people, male
and female, great and small . . . I carried off to Assyria.” (Luckenbill 1927: 310–311).
14 Ashurbanipal claims: “At that time an event befell him. His lips became stiff (?), his eye
‘turned’ and a gabbasu grew in it.” (Luckenbill 1927: 331).
15 For the direction of scenes and continuous sequences see Watanabe 2004.
16 According to Ashurbanipal, he was also injured by the bubūtu (frame?/pole?) of his char-
iot (Russell 1999: 159).
17 Luckenbill (1927: 393) instead translates the phrase as: “Shoot (me with) the bow”.
18 For example in the so-­called grinding scene, Southwest Palace, Room 33, Nineveh. (Rus-
sell 1999: Figure 60).
19 Ashurbanipal himself also inflicted damage on the severed head with his own hand: “With
a knife [I cut(?)] the tendons of his face . . .” (Russell 1999: 160).
20 Assyrian rendering of Humban-­haltash.
21 Barnett suggested that the relief was found in Room M of the North Palace, but appar-
ently all re-­carved scenes were found in the south or west area of the palace, not in Room
M. I am grateful to Julian Reade who brought this to my attention.
22 Due to the breakage, it is not clear how many individuals were there. Only a pointed shoe
is visible that might be a sign of Ellipians (Reade 1976: 98).
23 This can be understood from traces of the original carving left on the surface by remaining
lines and scratches. The original scene is not clear, but as studied by the author, it contained
several individuals at the same height of the secondary carving, marching towards the right.
24 There are two differences: in the upper part there is no carved circle (eye) and the fish has
no tail.
25 In some reliefs, such symbolic elements are more visible, for example, a winged lamassu
and other mythical figures depicted over a body of water on a relief in the Louvre.
26 Some shallow graffiti-­like carvings in Assyrian reliefs, such as garment margins, might
have been more visible by using colours and painting.
27 Ashurbanipal was not present at many of his campaigns but often took credit for the achieve-
ments. For example: “I captured Dunanu, . . . alive with my hands. My warriors bound him
with iron fetters and sent him quickly to me at Nineveh” (Russell 1999: 161, no. 37).
28 Umbahabua, the successor of Ummanaldash, was a usurper, called by Ashurbanipal miḫret
Ummanaldaš, from the word miḫirtu, literally meaning “counterfeit” or “equivalent”.

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 — Neo-Assyrian Representations of the Elamites —

Waters (2000: 77) suggests “in opposition to” as an appropriate translation. Clearly,
Ashurbanipal did not recognize him as a king.
29 Nirah was worshipped in the city of Der on the border between Mesopotamia and Elam.
For the Elamites, the snake was also a divine symbol, represented on reliefs and sealings.
In this scene, the snake has probably not been used in an Elamite context.
30 Leopards (singular ni-­im-­ru) were known to the people of Mesopotamia from earlier
times, but the meaning in the Neo-­Assyrian period is dubious.
1
3 I did not observe traces of reworking to remove the mane.
32 The delegations at Persepolis bring animals related to their region.
33 Ashurbanipal refers to the lions as “mountain breed”, but says that he hunted them “upon
the plain”.
34 “[Ummana]pp[a, son of U]rtaki, king of Elam, who fled and submitted [to me. . .] a lion
sprang upon him [. . .] he feared, and he implored my lordship (for aid)” (Luckenbill 1927:
392).
35 Since Ummanigash II was murdered in Elam, this may refer to another Ummanigash (III?)
held at the court of Ashurbanipal.
36 The epigraph related to this scene says: “[. . .] the kings of Elam, . . . [. . .] they prepared
the royal meal with their own hands and they brought it before me” (Barnett 1976: Pl.
LXIV, 57; Gerardi 1987: 209–210; 1988: 25).
37 Gerardi (1987: 210) suggests that these two kings should be identified as two of the three
captured Elamite kings: Tammaritu, Ummanaldash and Pa’e.
38 The date c. 630 BC is now more accepted for the end of Ashurbanipal’s reign, though
some scholars still prefer 627 BC.
9
3 His face is partly restored.
40 Previously suggested by Reade 1976:105. An extensive study by the author was given as a
lecture in the National Museum of Iran in 2004 (Razmjou forthcoming).

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Watanabe, Ch. E. 2004. The ‘Continuous Style’ in the Narrative Scheme of Assurbanipal’s
Reliefs. Iraq 66: 103–114.
Waters, M.W. 2000. A Survey of Neo-­Elamite History, State Archive of Assyria Studies XII.
Helsinki: State Archives of Assyria Project.

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 PART V

LANGUAGE AND WRITING

IN ELAM
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PREHISTORIC ADMINISTRATIVE
TECHNOLOGIES AND THE
ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN
REDISTRIBUTION ECONOMY
The case of greater Susiana

Denise Schmandt-­Besserat

INTRODU CTIO N
Ancient Near Eastern art of the 4th and 3rd millennium BC glorifies the temple
redistribution economy. Mesopotamians are depicted proudly delivering vessels filled
with goods at the temple gate (Leick 2002: 52–53; Nissen and Heine 2003: 30–31,
Figure  20) (Figure  18.1 A), and Elamites celebrate their huge communal granaries
(Amiet 1972b: Pl. 16:660, 662–663; Legrain 1921: Pl. 14: 222) (Figs. 18.1 B-E).
What the monuments do not show is the judicious administration which managed
the temple’s and community’s wealth. Nor do they tell when, how and why the redis-
tribution system was created.
In this chapter we analyze what the prehistoric administrative technologies such as
tokens and seals may disclose on the origin and evolution of the exemplary redistri-
bution economy (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 172–183; Pollock 1999: 79–80, 92–96)
which developed in antiquity in the land that was to become Elam (Vallat 1980: 2;
1993: CIV).

8TH MILLENNIUM B C  – INITIAL VIL L AG E

P ERIOD 1  – THE F IRS T TO KE NS
The earliest human presence in the Susiana and Deh Luran plains – Greater Susiana
(Moghaddam 2012a: 516) – was identified in level A of the site of Chogha Bonut, ca.
7200 BC. The evidence suggests the seasonal encampment of a small band who lived
from farming as well as hunting (Alizadeh 2003:40). Among the scanty remains they
left behind were fire pits dug into living floors and a scattering of artifacts, including
flint and obsidian tools, rocks smeared with ochre, clay figurines and tokens (Aliza-
deh 2003: 35).
A century later, during the Bus Mordeh Period, ca. 7100 BC, the site Ali Kosh was a
hamlet of sedentary farmers in the nearby Deh Luran Plain. It is not known where the
Ali Kosh settlers came from, but what seems certain is that they arrived with flocks
of goats and sheep and with the knowledge of agriculture (Alizadeh et al. 2004: 71).

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Figure 18.1  A. The ritual delivery of offerings at the gate of Eanna, the temple of
Inanna in Uruk, Mesopotamia. Carvings on the Uruk stone vessel (after Denise
Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: Figure 107); B and C. Susa: the storage of goods in public
warehouses. Sealings (after Amiet 1972b: Pl. 16: 660, 662–663); D. Sealing (after Legrain
1921: Pl. XIV: 222); E. Sealing (after Delougaz et al. 1996b: Pl. 149:E).

This can be deduced from the fact that the large grain cereals they cultivated in their
fields, such as emmer-­wheat and two-­row hulled barley, were not native to the region
(Hole, Flannery and Neely 1969: 343). Twelve small clay spheres recovered in the Bus
Mordeh levels are important, because they show that the Deh Luran farmers not only
arrived with grains to cultivate but also with tokens to count.

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As modest as they were, the 12 spheres of Ali Kosh provide important insights
into the culture and economy of the early farming communities. First, they indicate
the ability to count and therefore the cognitive capacity for management and admin-
istration. Second, they bring evidence that measures of grain were counted since, as
is known from the signs of writing that derived from tokens, the sphere stood for
a large measure of grain – perhaps a bushel (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 150–151).
Archaeology cannot possibly reveal the motivation for counting bushels of grain in
the 8th millennium BC. One is left to reason that counting, a demanding cognitive
skill, was not acquired to merely calculate what farmers held in their family granary.
It must have been for a more compelling reason. The fact that grain was the main
staple, and that it could be stored over the lean season, made it the logical com-
modity to create a redistribution economy. And once such a redistribution economy
was initiated, it required management. In the absence of other plausible reasons, we
propose that the tokens of Chogha Bonut and Ali Kosh bring evidence that Greater
Susiana was engaged in an economy of redistribution – a system of economic orga-
nization in which nonperishable food surpluses are collected and managed by an
elite for redistribution for the community. The redistribution fulfills important com-
munal functions, for instance, organizing banquets and rituals in honor of the gods
(Schmandt-­Besserat 2001: 399–400). Chogha Bonut and Ali Kosh thus borrow the
token system, used by Mesopotamia and much of the Near East since the 8th millen-
nium BC, to count and thereby control the collection and redistribution of communal
goods. At its beginning in the region, of course, the operation would have been simple
and modest, involving a number of households and perhaps headed by elders.
A farming redistribution economy was an extraordinary accomplishment in
human cooperation. It was nothing less than the second greatest economic event in
the evolution of mankind. The first was when our ancestors, the hunters, broke rank
from the other primates by sharing their catches with the band (Wilson 2014: 22–23;
Hayden 2014: 36). The cooperation of farmers to accumulate communal goods at
the dawn of agriculture continued the millennia-­old altruistic tradition of the hunters
and gatherers. In both instances, sharing resources increased the chances of survival
of the group. It is the farmers’ redistribution economy, however, that brought humans
on a path leading to administration technologies, the increase of cognitive skills and
ultimately writing and civilization.

7TH MILLENNIUM B C  – INITIAL VIL L AG E

PE RIOD – NEOLITHIC AD M INIS TRATIVE
TECHNOL O G IE S
Farming and the corollary redistribution economy prospered in the entire Near East in
the 7th millennium BC. In Deh Luran ca. 6900–6700 BC, the cultivated fields around
the village of Ali Kosh became larger than those of the previous Bus Mordeh period.
The houses increased in size to include multiple rooms. Pottery, the Neolithic craft par
excellence, became part of the assemblage of the Mohammed Jaffar period, ca. 6700–
6500 BC. Obsidian trade from Turkey was well attested by 474 implements made of
volcanic glass during the Ali Kosh period and 417 during that of Mohammed Jaffar
(Hole, Flannery and Neely 1969: 105). Copper (from the Central Plateau?) was among
the other traded materials represented in both periods, as well as turquoise (from

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northeastern Iran?), specular hematite (from Fars?) and sea shells (from the Persian
Gulf?) (Hole, Flannery and Neely 1969: 242, 350, 353). Otherwise, the token collec-
tions of six spheres over the Ali Kosh period and two during that of Mohammed Jaffar
showed no development and remained minimal (Hole, Flannery and Neely 1969: 230).
Similar cultural changes in architecture and crafts took place in Susiana at Chogha
Bonut B-E, ca. 6900–6700 BC. The token collection consisted of “plain tokens,”
which were shared throughout the prehistoric Near East between the 8th and 4th
millennium BC (Alizadeh 2003: 86–87, Figure 36) (Figure 18.2). These plain tokens
were usually limited to four geometric types: cones, spheres, disks and cylinders,

Figure 18.2  Administrative Technology at Chogha Bonut. Plain Tokens

(after Alizadeh 2003: Figure 36: A-HH).

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each with a few subtypes such as those listed below (Tab. 18.1). They were generally
smooth-­faced or, as in the case of Chogha Bonut, included rare examples which bore
either nail impressions (3.16) or a few lines (3.40).
The Chogha Bonut assemblage differed from that of Ali Kosh in two major ways.
First, the token collection was larger and more varied. Second, obsidian artifacts were
rare (Alizadeh 2003:6). It is particularly interesting that Chogha Bonut and Ali Kosh
show a striking lack of correlation between tokens and exchange. Ali Kosh was rich in
traded goods but poor in tokens. On the contrary, Chogha Bonut, which showed no
evidence of trade, had a substantial and diversified token collection. The same is true
in other regions of the Near East. For example, in the Zagros Mountains of Iran, the
early Neolithic site of East Chia Sabz received obsidian from Nemrut Dag and claims no
tokens (Darabi and Glascock 2013: 3804–3809). But in contrast, Ganj Dareh Tepe, also
in the Zagros, yielded no obsidian but produced a large token collection. Finally, Catal
Huyuk, in Turkey, which derived its prosperity from the obsidian trade, produced few
tokens. The fact that tokens cannot be linked to trade reinforces the notion that count-
ing was used for no other function but the local management of goods. Furthermore, the
addition to the token repertory of cones, discs and cylinders, standing, respectively, for
small and very large measures of grain and small domestic cattle, further strengthens our
hypothesis that counting originated for the control and management of farm products.
It is important to recognize that, as simple and archaic as they were, the plain tokens
created a significant administration technology. The cones, spheres, disks and cylinders
represented data. Their shape signified both the type of goods as well as the quantity
dealt with. For example, a sphere stood for a large measure, perhaps a bushel of grain;
a smaller unit – a pint (?) – was represented by a cone. The number of units of goods
was shown by the number of tokens in one-­to-­one correspondence, three bushels of
grain were shown by three spheres. The tokens were able to collect, store, communicate,
organize and control data. For example, with the help of tokens, a leader could evaluate
the yields of the forthcoming harvest; impose a levy on the estimated surplus and control
the actual delivery of the goods. Once the collected grain was stored in the commu-
nal granaries and the global quantity calculated, the leader could allocate amounts for
1. Seeds; 2. The preparation of festivals; 3. Ritual offerings to the gods; 4. Subsistence in
dire times. The fact that plain tokens were used in the entire Near East, with practically
no change during three millennia, certainly attests to their usefulness and significance.

Table 18.1  Plain token types and subtypes

Type I: Cone Type II: Sphere Type III: Disk Type IV: Cylinder
1.1: Isosceles 2.1: Small 3.1: Flat 4.1: Tapering End
1.2: Equilateral 2.2: Large 3.3: Lenticular
1.5: Large 2.24: Half-­Sphere 3.16: Nail Impressions
Equilateral
1.6: Flat 3.40: Sets of Lines and
Strokes
3.81: High

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6TH–5 TH MILLENNIUM B C  – E ARLY AND

M I D DLE VILLAGE P ERIOD  – THE INTRO D U CTIO N
OF STAMP S E AL S
In the early 5th millennium BC, Chogha Mish adopted seals in its administration
(Alizadeh 2008: 78). The site was then a settlement of 15 ha (Delougaz and Kantor
1996a: 280, 284), which loomed large in Susiana over the neighboring villages of Jaf-
farabad, Jowi and Bendebal. It was also the time when the first indication of industry
appeared at Jaffarabad, in the form of pottery workshops (Dollfus 1971: 26–27).
The earliest seal assemblage of Chogha Mish consisted of three stamp seals and
two sealings – the impression of seals on clay (Delougaz and Kantor 1996a: 256). The
three stamp seals were small, measuring 1.5 to 2.1 cm. They were carved into round
or square shapes in colorful orange, red and white stones. The three seals shared the
same geometric design consisting of striated quadrants (Delougaz and Kantor 1996b:
Pl. 234: GG, JJ, II). Interestingly, the design was not new, but was already popular
in Mesopotamia (Amiet 1980: 256, Pl. 8:155). As for the two sealings, they bore the
impression of a single seal featuring a rosette motif (Delougaz and Kantor 1996b: Pl.
67A-B). It is not known to what type of vessel or door they had been applied.
Like in Mesopotamia, where stamp seals were already used before the 7th millen-
nium BC, the Susiana seals functioned in tandem with tokens to control the move-
ment of goods within an administration (Alizadeh 2005: 17). The latter indicated the
quality and quantity of goods dealt with; the former identified the authority or office
in charge. The seals were applied onto jars, baskets and cases, to record the entry/exit
of the merchandise they held into/from the collective storehouse. When placed onto
a door, the sealing validated the delivery/retrieval of merchandise from a communal
storehouse. One may expect that the number of tokens corresponding to the goods
delivered or retrieved, were added or removed from the appropriate containers. The
added control apparently did not cause any change in the usage of the plain token
since the spheres continued to be the most popular counter of Chogha Mish, fol-
lowed by cones and half-­spheres (Delougaz and Kantor 1996a: 253–254; Alizadeh
2008: 77). Two spheres were the lot of Bendebal in level 12 and 16 (Dollfus 1983:
156), and a single cone at Djowi in Period II (Dollfus 1983: 42, 120, Figure 45:12).
It is likely that, at first, the seals served as status symbols and belonged exclusively
to the leader(s). But with population increase, and the loss of face-­to-­face contacts
between leaders and residents, the seals came to be used by subordinates on behalf of
the leader(s). The addition of seals to the Chogha Mish administration may therefore
signal the emergence of a more structured office capable of managing the increasing
volume of the redistribution economy.

5TH–4 TH MILLENNIUM B C (4 2 0 0 – 3 9 0 0 B C)  –

LATE VILLAGE PERIOD – S U S A I  – ACRO P O L E
LEVELS 2 7 –24 – THE INTRO D U CTIO N O F A
TEMPLE EC O NO M Y
One millennium later, when Chogha Mish was eclipsed following a conflagration
(Kantor 1976: 27–29; Hole 1990: 6–7), it was Susa’s turn to take the lead in Susiana,
when Jaffarabad (Dollfus 1975: 62), Jowi (Dollfus 1978: 156; 1983: 121) and Ben-
debal had become centers (Dollfus 1978: 153). Susa I was a settlement of some 15
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ha, where industry was taking root with pottery workshops (Mecquenem 1943: 5).
Most importantly, it boasted a temple built atop a monumental terrace (Canal 1978a:
32–38; Steve, Vallat and Gasche 2003: 398; Hole 2008: 167; Álvarez-­Mon 2012:
742) where, no doubt, the leaders of the redistribution economy officiated.
The temple, and the terrace decorated with clay cones it stood upon (Canal 1978b:
173), demonstrated a quantum jump in the amount of resources collected from the
community. It brings the evidence that, after 2,000 years, the redistribution system
had reached a new level of magnitude. The Susa I temple had enough wealth to afford
large expenditures for building and decorating monumental structures as well as sup-
porting a large work force of architects, masons, carpenters and ceramicists (Wright
and Johnson 1985: 25).
The Susa I  temple also signified a change of social structure. The authority in
charge of the administration was perhaps the figure depicted in glyptics sporting an
imposing mitre and wearing a long embroidered kilt (Harper, Aruz and Tallon 1992:
43–44; Hole 2010: 233) (Figure 18.3). The personage, shown making awesome ges-
tures between two submissive acolytes, may prefigure the powerful priest-­king of the
following Uruk and Susa II administration (Amiet 1986: 38). If the redistribution
economy ever had been in lay hands, it clearly had shifted to the religious sphere.
One would expect that the transformation of the redistribution economy would
lead to major administrative changes, but the people of Susa I still reckoned mea-
sures of cereals with exactly the same plain tokens, in the same shapes and sizes
as in previous millennia. The cones recovered around the “Massif Funéraire” (Mec-
quenem 1943: 5, 8 and Figure 3: 15–16) continued to be modeled in clay and to be
plain faced. Only the first appearance of a tetrahedron (Mecquenem 1943: 45–46
and Figure 40:2) considered to stand for a unit of labor (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a:

Figure 18.3  Personage belonging to the period of the

Susa I temple (after Amiet 1980: p. 33: 11b).

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148, 150) offers faint but remarkable evidence of the workforce employed to build
the monumental terraces. Also, the introduction of bitumen to manufacture tokens
in level 2 of Jaffarabad, 1 cone and 2 spheres in bitumen (Dollfus 1971: 68 and
Figure  27:4) against 1 cone, 7 spheres, 5 disks in clay (Dollfus 1971: 55), may be
mentioned, although it would have no impact on management. Finally, Jaffarabad
innovated painted markings on cone tokens (Dollfus 1971: 68 and Figs. 22, 15, 16).
Some may question whether the resources of the Susa I  temple could be man-
aged with tokens. The precolonial African kingdoms provide proof that sophisti-
cated tax and conscription systems could be implemented with pebbles and shells
(Herskovits 1938: 113–134). It remains to be acknowledged that the plain token
assemblages from Greater Susiana were unusually small compared to those from
Mesopotamia. For example, Arpachiyah produced 93 tokens of 11 types and 33
subtypes (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 155–162), and Tepe Gawra had 485 tokens in
11 types and 30 subtypes (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 240–255). In comparison, the
complete collection of Jaffarabad, over its entire occupation, which represents the
largest collection of Susiana, and Chagha Sefid which represents the largest collection
of Deh Luran (6000–5700 BC) (Hole 1977: 233, 237), only yield a total of 70 and 34
tokens, respectively. Eight types and 15 subtypes were represented in Jaffarabad, and
three types and eight subtypes at Chagha Sefid (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 23–27;
9–11). Moreover, how is one to explain that the Greater Susiana assemblages are
poor compared to Iranian sites such as Zagheh, in the Qazvin plain of northern Iran,
which contributed 238 tokens in seven types and 15 subtypes (Moghimi and Fazeli
2015: 37 and Tab. 2; Moghimi 2015: 136). Tall-­e Geser (Alizadeh 2014: 45, Fig-
ure 88), in the neighboring Ram Hormuz area, is similarly no match for the even far
earlier Neolithic site of Ganj Dareh Tepe, in the Zagros, with its 511 tokens, in seven
types and 36 subtypes (Overmann n.d.). It is well possible that the reason for the dis-
crepancy has nothing to do with the culture or economy of Susiana but simply with
the excavations. Tokens are difficult to find because they are minuscule and because
their color blends with the fill. They are harder to detect in clay soils than in sandy
terrains, and perhaps especially difficult to find in the fertile compact earth of Khu-
zistan. The systematic use of sieves, which is not always possible, always enhances
the chance of recovering the small artifacts. Finally, vigilance may play the most
significant role. Vivian Broman, who was taking part in the Jarmo excavations when
writing her thesis on clay artifacts, is to be thanked for the 2002 tokens recovered at
the site – the largest collection ever assembled (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 176–179).

4TH MILLENNIUM B C (39 0 0 – 3 5 0 0 B C)  – P O S T

V ILLAGE PERIOD – SUS A II  – ACRO P O L E I,
LEVELS 23–1 9 / EARLY AND M ID D L E U RU K  – THE
C OMP LEX TOKENS AND U RBAN E CO NO M Y
After 2,000 years of unchanging plain tokens, the Susa II “complex tokens” came in
many shapes and were covered with markings (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 73–88)
(Figure  18.4). This brought the Susa collection of 783 tokens to multiply into 16
types and 178 subtypes (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 52–91) and the 813 tokens of
Chogha Mish into 10 types and 45 subtypes (Delougaz and Kantor 1996a: 120–125,
1996b: Pl. 134). Complex tokens came in a diversity of new geometric as well as

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Figure 18.4  Administrative Technology at Susa. Complex tokens

(after de Mecquenem 1943: Figure 23).

naturalistic shapes such as miniature vessels, tools and furniture. Markings in the
form of sets of dots or parallel, perpendicular or criss-­cross lines were another dis-
tinctive feature of the Susa II complex tokens. Finally, there were markings consisting
of painting or appliqué pellets and coils. Perforation of some of the artifacts was yet
another characteristic of the complex token assemblages. It is important to empha-
size, however, that the plain tokens continued unchanged. The spheres, cones, disks
and cylinders continued to be used smooth faced, as they had been all along, starting
in Ali Kosh, and continuing through Chogha Bonut, Chogha Mish and Susa I.
The complex tokens signaled major changes in the scope of the Susa II administra-
tion. First, they denoted a greater precision in accountancy. Whereas plain cylinders
stood for one generic head of small cattle, the complex tokens used special markings
to differentiate between rams, ewes and kids. There were also new tokens to refer
to various cereals. Second, the complex tokens signified a vast increase in the range
of products administered. Next to the plain tokens which stood for farm products,
the complex tokens represented raw materials and manufactured goods (Schmandt-­
Besserat 1992a: 143–149). There were tokens standing for wool, wood and metal.
Others indicated finished products typical of urban workshops, such as various qual-
ities of textiles and garments. The list of processed foods and drinks included beer, oil,

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bread, cakes and trussed ducks. There were also tokens to count types of vessels, tools
and furniture, and finally, luxury goods such as perfume and jewelry. In other words,
the administration of Susa II levied urban workshops and guilds.
It is important to realize that most Iranian sites of the 4th millennium BC never
acquired complex tokens and continued to be limited to plain tokens. Such was the
case for Farukhabad (Wright 1981: 156), Sharafabad (Wright, Miller and Redding
1980: 277), Tall-­e Abu Chizan (KS 1663; Moghaddam 2012b: 131, Figure  5.28:
8–14, 29, 36), Tepe Mehr Ali (Sardari Zarchi and Rezaiee 2007: 19), in the south-
west; Tepe Sialk (Ghirshman 1938), Qoli Darvish (Sarlak 2011) and Sofalin (Hes-
sari 2011) in the Central Iranian Plateau; Tall-­e Bakun in the south (Alizadeh 2005:
83–84, 252–255, Figs. 71–72) and Tepe Yahya (Mutin 2013: 150) in southeast
Iran. Only five Iranian sites yielded complex tokens: Susa, Chogha Mish, Mous-
sian (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 40–42), KS 54 (Johnson 1973: 92; 1976: 171–172;
Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 35–36) and Tepe Hissar II (Dyson 1987: 655–657; Thorn-
ton, Gursan-­Salzmann and Dyson 2013: 141). With the exception of Hissar, all these
sites were located in Greater Susiana. The complex token phenomenon in Iran may
therefore be viewed as a mostly regional development of Greater Susiana.
Except for a group from the adjacent tell of the Ville Royale (Schmandt-­Besserat
1992a: 84), the entire Susa token collection originated from the temple precinct on
the Acropole mound – the administrative hub of the city (Steve and Gasche 1971:
41; Canal 1978a: 50; Álvarez-­Mon 2013: 218). Office buildings decorated with clay
cone mosaics were located towards the east (Dyson 1966: 269). The main concentra-
tion of tokens was recovered south of the shrine, where workshops and warehouses
were located (Morgan et al. 1905: 40 Figs. 48 and 53; Belaiew 1933: 192–193,196,
Figure  28; Mecquenem 1943: 27,29, Figure  23: 1–76). They were found together
with administrative materials such as beveled rim bowls, serving as measures (Nissen
1988: 83–85), and sealings produced by the new type of cylinder seals (Amiet 1985:
37). These types of artifact and architecture decorations were typical of the admin-
istrative paraphernalia of Eanna, the temple precinct of the Mesopotamian goddess
Inanna in the metropolis of the Uruk city state (Harper, Aruz and Tallon 1992: 50).
The token collection from Susa was remarkably similar to that from Uruk
(­Figure 18.5). In particular, the two collections shared series of identical disks, triangles
and paraboloids which indicated by a number of lines different qualities of a same
product (Figure 18.6). For example, discs with 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8 and 10 lines stood for
various types of cloth: and paraboloids with 0, 1, 3 or 8 lines denoted different models
of kilts. Triangles with 5 lines, which represented an ingot of metal, were at both sites
the most popular tokens of a series of triangles featuring 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10
lines. The discrepancy between the Susa and Uruk token collections was chronological.
At Uruk, complex tokens appeared in the Ubaid Period, ca. 4400 BC. They reached
a floruit during Uruk VI to IV, ca. 3500–3300 BC. However, complex tokens did not
occur at Susa before 3500–3300 BC. Accordingly, there can be no doubt that the leader
in administrative technologies was Uruk (Carter and Stolper 1984: 113). There is pres-
ently no consensus on whether the transmission of complex tokens from Uruk to Susa
occurred progressively or suddenly (Potts 1999: 52–59; Petrie 2013: 15). The fact that
the levels of Susa I  and II followed without transition and the traces of fire on the
Acropole and Apadana mounds, however, seem to tilt the scale towards a brief episode
(Amiet 1966: 66; Le Brun 1978b: 190; Steve and Gasche 1990: 20, 26).

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Figure 18.5  Token collections of Uruk and Susa, courtesy Karenleigh A. Overmann.

Complex tokens were recovered at Uruk (Schmandt-­ Besserat 1992a: 49–73)

and Girsu (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 228–237) in Mesopotamia and as far west
as Habuba Kabira (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 88–91) and Tell Kannas (Schmandt-­
Besserat 1992b: 373–377) in Syria. Although separated by several hundred miles
from the Syrian sites, Susa and Chogha Mish shared with them the same ceramic
vessels, cylinder seals, sealings and public architecture decorated with cone mosaics
introduced from Uruk. In other words, the common denominator of the sites yielding
complex tokens was an Uruk intervention (Nissen 1985: 39–40). The accounting
techniques with complex tokens imported by the Uruk mega metropolis caused a

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Figure 18.6  Tokens series (after Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: p. 209–210, 220–221, 223).

quantum jump in the complexity of administration of Greater Susiana. The indig-

enous Susa I redistribution economy, managed with plain tokens, was based on an
agricultural society. That of Uruk and Susa II vastly expanded to draw upon both
agrarian and urban populations.

4TH MILLENNIUM B C (35 0 0 – 3 3 0 0 B C)  – P O S T

V ILLAGE PERIOD – SUS A II  – ACRO P O L E I,
LEV E LS 18–1 7 /LATE URU K  – E NVE L O P E S AND
THE INVENTION O F W RITING
Envelopes to hold tokens were one of the most consequential inventions of the 4th
millennium BC, since they led to the invention of writing. The envelopes consisted of

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hollow spherical or ovoid clay balls about 5–7 cm in diameter (Schmandt-­Besserat

1992a: 110–128). The artifacts had thick walls, leaving a small cavity of 2–4  cm
where tokens, representing records of contracts or debts, could be kept in archives.
The number of tokens enclosed inside envelopes varied from two to 15. There was a
majority of plain tokens, but all the tokens held in envelopes were of identical types
and subtypes to those found loose.
Seven Iranian sites produced envelopes: Susa (Le Brun and Vallat 1978: 13–18,
Figure 45, Pl. I-III; Le Brun 1978a: 62), Chogha Mish (Delougaz and Kantor 1996a:
120–121; 1996b: Pl. 133), Farukhabad (Wright 1981; 156), Sofalin (Hessari and
Yusefi Zoshk 2009: 21, Figure 13; Hessari 2011: 42, Figure 14), Qoli Darvish (Sarlak
2011: 204, Figure  28; Alizadeh, Aghili and Sarlak 2013: 161, Figure  14:11), Tepe
Yahya (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992b: 125–126, Figure 75) and Shahdad (Hakemi 1972:
20, 54, Pl. 22A). The three first sites are in Susiana, Sofalin and Qoli Darvish in the
Central Iranian Plateau, and the two other sites are from the south-­east. Susa pro-
duced 40 complete envelopes, 15 fragmentary and 57 fragments; Chogha Mish 25,
plus four fragmentary and Farukhabad a single one (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 112–
114). The Faruhkabad and Chogha Mish examples are dated from the Middle Uruk
period, ca. 3700–3500 BC (Schmandt-­Besserat 1992a: 114). At Susa, envelopes are
securely dated to level 18 and 17 of Acropole, equated to Eanna VI-V, ca. 3500–3300
BC (Vallat 1978: 193; Le Brun 1985: 35).
Helene Kantor noted that envelopes usually occurred in clusters (Delougaz and
Kantor 1996a: 120). This must have been the case for the first envelopes discovered
on the Susa Acropole, either by Jacques de Morgan in 1901 or Roland de Mecquenem
in 1907 (Legrain 1921: 7–8, Pl. XIX:298; Mecquenem 1924: 106–107; 1943: 18–21,
Figure 16). Like tokens, they belonged to the area of workshops and storehouses of
the Susa II temple precinct (Amiet 1972a: 67), except for a unique exception in the
north (Amiet 1972b: 92:549). Seventeen complete or fragmentary examples were
located in 1977 in the ruins of an ordinary structure (Le Brun 1978c: 62–4; Le Brun
and Vallat 1978: 13–18, Figure 3, Pl. I-III).
The envelopes finally combined tokens and seals together on the same artifact
(Amiet 1972a: 69–70; 1972b: Pl. 61–88), each with a different purpose. Inside, the
tokens stood for the quality and quantity of the goods dealt with; outside, the seals
indicated the relevant authorities or offices involved. The typical Susa II seals in the
shape of a small stone cylinder may have been invented specifically to be rolled around
the envelopes. A single, two and even three different cylinder seal impressions system-
atically covered the entire surface of each envelope, but there are also examples of both
stamp and cylinder seal impressions on the same envelope. Among the innumerable
scenes carved on cylinder seals appears the “En,” the awesome priest-­king of Uruk
(Amiet 1986: 61), who was certainly heading the redistribution economy, since the sign
for his title appears on the Uruk tablets (Green and Nissen 1987: 197). The personage
is easy to identify by his size, greater than the rest of the mortals, and his unique round
headdress and long skirt (Schmandt-­Besserat 1993: 209–210). On an envelope from
Chogha Mish, the “En” is depicted riding in a boat, holding two prisoners with a rope
(Delougaz and Kantor 1996a: 146; 1996b: 151) (Figure 18.7A). At Susa, he stands in
front of the temple, shooting arrows at Susians, recognizable by their long hair (Amiet
1972b: 18: 695) (Figure 18.7 B). Both compositions leave little doubt that the complex
tokens and envelopes did not make their way from Uruk by peaceful trade.

375
 — D e n i s e S c h m a n d t - ­B e s s e r a t —

Figure 18.7  Sealings picturing the En, Priest-­King of Uruk,

in Greater Susiana. A. Chogha Mish (after Delougaz et al. 1996b:
Pl. 151: B); B. Susa (after Amiet 1980: p. 343, Pl.46: 659).

The clay envelopes were helpful in keeping tokens and sealing together, thus pre-
venting the tokens to be separated or lost. However, once the envelopes were closed,
it was no longer possible to verify their content without breaking them and tamper-
ing with the sealings. It is for this reason that envelopes were marked by imprinting
tokens on their surface while the clay was still soft (Figure  18.8). Markings were
never used systematically. In Iraq, none of the 25 envelopes from Uruk were marked,
but in Syria, both examples from Habuba Kabira were. In Iran, there were 12 marked
envelopes in Susa and one in Tepe Yahya. Several of the envelopes of level 18 of Susa
had markings, but those of the later level 17 did not.
The impressed markings indicated both the shape and number of tokens enclosed
inside the envelopes. For example, three cones and three spheres were shown by
three wedges and three circular markings, in one-­to-­one correspondence. The value
of the impressed markings was the same as that of the tokens they represented:
a wedge equaled the same small measure of grain as a cone token and a circular

376
 — Prehistoric administrati ve technologies —

Figure 18.8  Envelope from Susa, Sb 1940. Courtesy Musée du Louvre,

Département des Antiquités Orientales, Paris.

marking equaled the same large measure of grain as a sphere token. Three large and
three small measures of grain, formerly indicated by three spheres and three cones
became represented by three circular markings and three wedges. The function of the
impressed markings was identical to that of the loose tokens. They communicated
to accountants the exact same information, concerning small and large measures of
grain, jars of oil and heads of small cattle. The markings served to manage the same
goods in the same quantities for the same redistribution economy. This was the Susa
II or Uruk redistribution economy celebrated by art (Figure 18.1A-E).
The markings on envelopes were an ingenious solution to a simple archival prob-
lem, but they forever changed accounting, management, administration and commu-
nication. The markings were the third metamorphosis in the 4,000-year evolution of
tokens. Starting first with plain shapes, and secondly, evolving to complex forms, the
tokens were finally reduced to two-­dimensional impressed markings. This was writ-
ing: civilization was under way.

CONCLU S IO N
Cooperation is the hallmark of humanity (Wilson 2014: 28). Our hunter ancestors
left behind all other primates by sharing resources rather than fighting for them. Shar-
ing meat among hunters was simple and immediate. It took place upon the hunters’
return, as the game was butchered (Marshall 1976: 357–363). There was no need
for counting since each cut was traditionally assigned to a particular individual of
the band.
Sharing resources did not stop with the agriculture revolution. On the contrary,
it further advanced when the first farmers initiated a redistribution economy mostly
based on cereals and small cattle. The operation was complex because multiple house-
holds contributed and consumption was deferred over weeks or months. The new

377
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economy required a new leadership of managers able to administer the communal

wealth by 1. Establishing the amounts of goods to be contributed by the community;
2. Controlling the deliveries; 3. Protecting the reserves from weather, rodents, raids
and thieves; 4. Overseeing the redistribution. The leaders adopted tokens to count
and control the communal resources at each step of the process.
The sites of Susiana and Deh Luran illustrate with surprising clarity the evolution
of administrative technologies to implement the redistribution economy in Greater
Susiana. Tokens were adopted at the same time as agriculture in the first levels of
occupation of Ali Kosh and Chogha Bonut, ca. 7200 BC. Two millennia passed until
the management of goods with plain tokens was complemented by stamp seals to
communicate official information from an office or a person. The establishment of a
temple at Susa, ca 4000 BC, did not cause any change in the plain tokens or stamp
seals because it still relied on an agrarian economy. The next groundbreaking steps in
administrative technologies – complex tokens and cylinder seals – came together to
Greater Susiana from the neighboring Mesopotamian metropolis of Uruk. The new
technologies were adapted to an urban economy.
The ancient Near Eastern redistribution economy should be viewed as a major
landmark in the history of mankind. Its significance and complexity brought humans
to count and discover the world of numbers. In turn, counting was the first cognitive
step towards writing.

ACKNOWLEDG M E NT
The chapter has been written in collaboration with Niloufar Moghimi, PhD candi-
date in the Prehistoric Archaeology of Iran, Department of Archaeology, the Univer-
sity of Tehran, [email protected]. I am particularly grateful to Ms Moghimi
for contributing her knowledge on the recent excavations in Iran. I also much appre-
ciated her insights in the interpretation of the Susa token collection.

NOTE
1 I follow the chronological framework proposed by Moghaddam 2012a: 510 and 2012b: 4,
Tab. 1.

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 CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE PROTO-­E LAMITE

WRITING SYSTEM

Jacob L. Dahl

INTRODU CTIO N
We can trace the origins of the proto-­Elamite writing system back to those administra-
tive artefacts that we regard as forerunners to writing, dating to the so-­called Uruk V
period, and to the earliest proto-­cuneiform texts from the Uruk IVb period (3550–3200
BC). The use of those administrative artefacts and early tablets, most likely invented
in the southern Babylonian city of Uruk after which they are named, spread far and
wide across the Ancient Near East, including into western Iran. The proto-­Elamite texts
(3100–2900 BC), the conventional name given to the earliest distinctively non-­Uruk
texts from Iran, share a number of features with the earlier Uruk texts, such as the
shape and use of most of the numerical signs, and the technique of writing. However,
there are also significant differences between the proto-­Elamite tablets and both the
preceding Uruk V and IVb texts, and the contemporary Uruk IVa and III (including the
texts from Jemdat Nasr) texts from southern Mesopotamia, so much so, in fact, that
proto-­Elamite is an entirely separate writing system, and no contact between the two
systems can be detected after the Uruk IVa period. Proto-­Elamite remains largely unde-
ciphered, and a true decipherment, in the linguistic sense of the word is unlikely to ever
be achieved given the feeble link between writing and speech at this early point in the
history of writing (Damerow 2006). However, the content of many proto-­Elamite texts
is understood, and the corpus provides rich information on both social and economic
aspects of life in early Iran, and about the intellectual advances of early man.

DEFINITIO N
Not all examples of early, non-­cuneiform writing from Iran can be classified as proto-­
Elamite. Whereas it is relatively simple to identify a standard and late proto-­Elamite
text or fragment, it is rather more difficult to determine whether a very early text
from western Iran belongs to the trans-­regional Uruk V or IVb-­a tradition, or is a
forerunner to the proto-­Elamite texts or even an early example of the proto-­Elamite
texts. This is perhaps best illustrated by the small group of text artefacts recovered
from Tepe Sialk by Roman Ghirshman: only five of the 23 tablets and fragments
from Sialk can be classified as proto-­Elamite (Sialk 2, 1621, 1624, 1626, and 1630;
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 — Jacob L. Dahl —

pace Glassner 1998), while the rest are numero-­ideographic or numerical tablets of
the Uruk V or IVb period. However, even within the group of numero-­ideographic
tablets, a transitional group of texts so named by Englund, because they were sim-
ilar to the numerical tablets of Uruk V, but with one or two non-­numerical signs
(Englund 1998: 51–56), it may be possible to suggest that tablets from Iran and
tablets from Mesopotamia can be differentiated, since the order of numerical signs
and non-­numerical signs seems to anticipate the later distinction (Dahl 2013: 233).
The date of the loan of writing from the Uruk culture by scribes in Iran writing
in the indigenous writing system proto-­Elamite is equally difficult to pinpoint. In
2004 Englund suggested that the choice at Susa of writing a particular sign in the
numerical system representing a fraction of the basic 1-unit sign (when used in the
sexagesimal system counting discrete objects but representing probably one month
of rations when used in the capacity system) indicated contact between the users of
the two writing systems up until and during the Uruk IVa – Susa 17 period (Englund
2004: 125–127). Until then Uruk scribes seem to have freely alternated between two
versions, each facing the opposite direction, but after that time Uruk scribes fixed the
direction of the sign in one way only and opposite to the way the sign is used in Susa.
Another similar indicator for the discontinuation of contact after the Uruk IVa period
is the way in which the line rulings were made in the two corpora (Englund 2004:
126): in Uruk IVb-­a texts line dividers were made by pressing the shank of the stylus
into the clay, whereas on Uruk III tablets, lines were drawn with the pointed edge of
a stylus; line dividers in the proto-­Elamite tablets were always made like those in the
Uruk IVb-­a corpus, suggesting that contact between the two systems broke during or
at the end of the Uruk IVa period.

SYNTA X
Syntactically there are two major differences between proto-­cuneiform texts (i.e. the
early texts from Uruk and the Uruk period texts found elsewhere, including in west-
ern Iran), and the proto-­Elamite texts. Firstly, whereas the global structure of proto-­
cuneiform and proto-­Elamite texts is similar – texts have headers, are divided into
entries with possible subentries, and are usually totalled – proto-­cuneiform texts are
organized in visual hierarchies (Damerow 2006), but linearly strung in the proto-­
Elamite texts. Secondly, the numerical notation precedes the non-­numerical notation
it qualifies in proto-­cuneiform texts but follows the notation it qualifies in proto-­
Elamite texts. Whereas these differences may give hints at the amounts of linguistic
data coded in the two scripts, where proto-­Elamite with its linear structure perhaps
is better suited to conveying linguistic information, it does not necessarily reveal
anything about the underlying language. In the much later cuneiform texts from
Mesopotamia written in Sumerian, numerical notations continue to precede the non-­
numerical notations they qualify, although adjectives, and also numbers, in the Sume-
rian language follow the nouns they qualify.

CHRONO L O G Y
The proto-­Elamite texts can be divided into a number of groups that relate to chrono-
logical distribution rather than geographical distribution or the content of the texts.

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When paired with information from the old excavations of Susa (Jacques de Mor-
gan [1897–1911], and Roland de Mecquenem [1911–1940], interrupted by the First
World War; Roman Ghirshman’s excavations of Susa following the Second World
War are of little importance for the study of proto-­Elamite) and the later excavations
of Jean Perrot and Alain LeBrun (1967–1979), it is relatively safe to conclude that
these groups correlate roughly to Susa Acropolis 17 for the oldest texts, Susa Acrop-
olis 16–15 for the middle group, and Susa Acropolis 15–14 for the late texts (see
Dahl, Petrie and Potts 2013: Figure 18.17). Difficulties remain, in particular with the
very oldest texts (Dahl, Petrie and Potts 2013: 358 and 371 and Figure 18.17), none
of which were found in the stratigraphically secure excavations of LeBrun, as well as
with the very latest texts. Texts from both of these groups are differentiated particu-
larly based on internal features of the texts. For the earliest texts, these features are
the higher numbers of signs occurring only once (hapax legomena or singletons) and
the shortness of the texts and the entries of the texts, as well as the simpler structure
of the documents and the lack of headers and totals as well as subscripts, and finally
the often clumsy execution of the signs. For the latest texts, the exact opposite is the
case: the strings of signs are long and can often be broken down into separate units,
texts can have very complex structure with main entries and subentries, and the signs
are generally uniformly executed. Such observations, without the corroborating evi-
dence from the excavations, would perhaps be insufficient to determine the chrono-
logical distribution of the tablets, but since these groups map fairly well onto those
examples of proto-­Elamite tablets that do come from well-­controlled excavations at
Susa and elsewhere, the divisions appear to be correct.

GEOGRAPHICAL DIS TRIBU TIO N

Proto-­Elamite texts have been found in excavations across Iran, with a distribution
pattern which suggests two paths of diffusion. Early proto-­Elamite tablets are only
found at sites in the Susa plain and at Tepe Sialk (and possibly at Tepe Sofalin, see
Dahl, Hessari and Yousefi 2013: 68). Similarly, tablets from the earliest part of the
mature or standard type are only found at Susa, Sialk, and Ozbaki, whereas standard
and late tablets are found both at Susa, Tepe Sofalin, yayha, Malyan, and Sarh-­i-­
Sohkte, suggesting that proto-­Elamite spread first along a northern and north-­eastern
route, and only later through a southern route. It is difficult to estimate what, if any,
importance these observations may have for the understanding of the diffusion of
proto-­Elamite, except for confirming that the writing system was in all likelihood
invented at Susa. Theories of diffusion need to take into consideration that the con-
tent of the texts in both Susa and in other sites does not include any references to
trade or warfare, but is restricted to household economies.
More than 1,600 tablets and fragments excavated at Susa have been published
(MDP 6, 17, 26, 31, Mecquenem 1956 and Dahl in press); an unknown number
of fragments from the early excavations remain unpublished in both the Louvre
Museum and in Museums in Iran (NMI and Susa museum). The other sites across
Iran have produced much more modest numbers of proto-­Elamite texts with Tal-­e
Malyan and Tepe Yahya yielding 33 and 27 texts each (see Stolper 1985 for Malyan,
and Damerow and Englund 1989 for Yahya); Tal-­e Ghazir, Shahr-­e-­Sokhta, and Tepe
Ozbaki yielded one each (Whitcomb 1971: 37, Pl 11A.; cf. Alden 1982 for Ghazir;

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Salvatori, Tosi and Vidale 2001: 36 for Sokhta; Vallat 2003 for Ozbaki); and Sialk
yielding 23 tablets but only five proto-­Elamite tablets proper (Ghirshman 1934: 116;
1938: 85, Pls. 92–93). Recent excavations at Tepe Sofalin have yielded substantial
numbers of proto-­Elamite tablets with the first 11 published recently (Dahl, Hessari
and Yousefi 2013).

CONTE NT
As commented upon multiple times since the publication of Scheil in 1905, the con-
tent of all proto-­Elamite texts is administrative (with the exception of two metro-­
mathematical texts, see Englund and Damerow 1989: 18–19, n. 51 and n. 53).
Interestingly, the content is further restricted and covers only the production, storage,
and distribution of food, and by extension the management of human laborers and
animal flocks. The foodstuff mentioned in the texts is further restricted to cereal
and plant products and dairy products, as well as possibly, but highly speculatively,
meat. Texts concerning food production include possibly sowing or harvesting texts,
rations for teams of workers doing field work, and texts documenting sheep and
goat herding. Texts concerning food storage do not directly detail the content of, for
example, granaries, or storerooms, but include enough circumstantial information to
propose that foods were stored and records kept. Cereal and cereal products are dis-
tributed to both low-­ranking and high-­ranking members of society in what appears
to be monthly rations. Dairy products are not recorded as being distributed. With the
exception of dairy, most texts concerning food production, storage, and distribution
seem to deal with cereals, most likely barley and/or wheat, but some texts may deal
with other plants. Animal herding texts record flocks of sheep and goat, and the pro-
duction of refined products from sheep and goats’ milk, as well as other products,
perhaps hair and hides. Cows have not been identified in the textual record, although
they are well represented on proto-­Elamite seals and in the archaeological record
from proto-­Elamite layers in both Susiana and other parts of Iran. Similarly, the
glyptic record includes fish, bulls and oxen, sheep and goats, lions and possibly other
animals. Pigs are absent in both texts and image (Dahl 2015).
Information concerning the content of the texts is of course very useful for any
attempts at decipherment, since it can remind us of what the possible restrictions in
content may be. For example, if excavations from ancient Iran show very low num-
bers of bones from pigs in settlements dating to the same time as the proto-­Elamite
texts, and if the glyptic art of the period (seals and seal impressions) carries no obvi-
ous representations of pigs, then it is unlikely that pigs formed an important part of
the food of the ancient people of Iran, and by extension unlikely that pigs were rep-
resented in the administrative texts. It is in this context interesting to note that also
none of the signs in the writing system appear to be representations of pigs.

DECIP HERM E NT
Traditionally, however, decipherment begins with establishing the corpus, producing
verifiable transcriptions, and establishing the list of signs. That data is foundational
for what is, in fact, rather simple analyses of number of discrete signs, sign frequen-
cies, and eventually grapho-­tactical analyses. Number of signs and sign frequencies

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can inform us about the class of writing system: whether it is logo-­syllabic (such as
Sumerian and Akkadian), syllabic (such as Minoan Linear B), or alphabetic (such as
Phoenician), based simply on the numbers of discrete signs (Daniels and Bright 1996:
142–3). Grapho-­tactical analyses on the other hand, investigating the relative place-
ment of signs, can lead to an actual decipherment if the texts contain enough linguis-
tic data (for an early example, see Cathcart 2011:1 §1.5 discussing the decipherment
of m and n in Old Persian cuneiform by Rasmus Rask).
For proto-­Elamite, establishing the corpus and producing exact transcriptions has
been a relatively difficult task, but it is today almost complete: the vast majority of
the proto-­Elamite texts in the Louvre Museum have been made available online with
high-­resolution images and well-­structured transliterations (see http://cdli.ucla.edu
s.v. proto-­Elamite), and it is hoped that a similar level of online coverage for the texts
in Iran can go ahead in the near future; establishing a signlist on the other hand con-
tinues to represent significant problems (the most recently published sign list Meriggi
1974, forms the basis for my own sign list available online (see http://cdli.ucla.edu);
all sign names used in this chapter refers to that list). This is in no small part due to
the nature of the writing system and the limited level of standardization observable in
the texts. Proto-­Elamite has a high number of singletons, signs only found once, and
the number does not tend to decrease with new publications but rather to increase
(see also Damerow 2006, and Dahl 2003). The reason for this can be found in the
fact that proto-­Elamite is not a fully developed writing system but rather a proto-­
writing system serving a very particular purpose for the administrators using it. As
such, the proto-­Elamite writing system had no use as a communicative system in the
traditional sense. Texts were written with the author and his circle of administrators
as intended readers (if the texts were ever intended to be read), and not administra-
tors in other institutions or other settlements. New products, or new offices, were
therefore described with new signs, either based on existing ones or entirely new
signs. This is similar to the early stages of the proto-­cuneiform texts from Uruk (V
to IVb), whereas there is some standardization observable in the very latest Uruk
tablets (Uruk IVa and III). Further problems establishing the correct list of signs exist,
however. The proto-­Elamite scribes loaned the method of writing, the medium, and
the tools, as well as a majority of the numerical signs and systems, but only a few
non-­numerical signs (Englund 2004: Figure 5.14). That, combined with the fact that
proto-­Elamite had no successor system, makes it very difficult to differentiate seman-
tic from graphical variants. Finally, the very shape of the signs presents a further
problem. Students of proto-­Elamite have remarked on the high number of abstract
signs in the writing system, but more remarkable and problematic is the lack of signs
representing humans, human bodies, or any part thereof (including the head). This
omission, which is matched in the art (see Dahl 2014), leaves us without immediately
decipherable signs such as HAND for “to give”, or EYE for “to inspect”, and so
forth. The only exceptions are two signs that were part of the package of early signs
borrowed from Mesopotamia. These two signs, SAL and KURa in proto-­cuneiform,
M72 and M388 in proto-­Elamite, had presumably lost their immediate graphical
referent by the time they were adopted in Iran (Damerow and Englund 1989: 55–57).
The fact that proto-­Elamite is thus devoid of signs such as HAND, or HEAD, signifi-
cantly impairs our understanding of the texts. Similar signs have proven to be corner-
stones in the decipherment of other scripts (Gelb and Whiting 1975: 101).

387
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STRUCTURE OF PROTO- E
­ L AM ITE D O CU M E NTS
Structurally, the texts consist of up to five different sections (header, entries, total,
top-­edge inscription, and subscript). Simultaneously, the signs can be divided into
four groups (numerical, owner, object, and possibly syllabic signs). Interestingly, and
potentially important for the decipherment, the distribution patterns of sign groups
and text sections is not random, and the main entries can be split further according
to sign use. Most proto-­Elamite tablets begin with a single, sometimes complex, sign
that functions as a header for the entire text. This sign may indicate the household to
which or person to whom the transactions belong (this is structurally similar to the
colophon of proto-­cuneiform texts see Englund 2004: 106, n. 12). In some instances,
in particular in early texts, there is no header and we must surmise that other fac-
tors such as storage location functioned as a replacement for a header. Following
the header, a text can have any number of entries, from one to hundreds (see Dahl,
Hawkins and Kelley in press, for a discussion of the longest proto-­Elamite texts). The
entries can be divided into subentries (see, for example, Hawkins 2015 for an exam-
ple of this type of text). Where the entries and subentries of proto-­cuneiform texts
are written in boxes placed in a way that relates to the structure of the document,
the same information is strung along in lines in continuous writing in proto-­Elamite.
All entries end with a numerical notation that qualifies a counted object, usually
recorded by the last sign of the entry (note that in our transliterations we separate
the entries as lines although these may span lines in the original document). Most
proto-­Elamite account entries are totaled. The totals can be complex, with multiple,
different products individually totaled. The total is always written on the reverse of
the tablet which is rotated around its horizontal axis. Because text from the obverse
can spill over onto the reverse, rotating the tablet around its vertical axis, the text on
the reverse of the tablets can run in two opposite directions, generally with a blank
space between the two. A number of proto-­Elamite texts have an inscription on the
top edge of unknown meaning. Some proto-­Elamite texts also include a subscript,
after the final entry but before a total. Subscripts are identified by the lack of a qual-
ifying numerical notation.

SEMANTIC DISTINC TIO N O F S IG NS

Numerical signs
Except for a few derived numerical signs and one numerical system, proto-­Elamite
essentially used a restricted version of the Mesopotamian numerical system. Proto-­
Elamite used only seven systems compared to the 13 or more systems in use at Uruk;
and only about half of the more than 60 distinct numerical signs attested at Uruk are
found in proto-­Elamite texts (Damerow and Englund 1989: 18–28).
The most important discrepancy between the Mesopotamian and Iranian numeri-
cal systems is the invention in Iran of a decimally based system. However innovative
this system was, it nevertheless used signs from the other systems. This system seems
to have been reserved for counting low-­status objects such as herded animals and
dependent workers, with the imported sexagesimal system reserved for high-­status
objects (Damerow and Englund 1989: 24; Englund 2004: 112).

388
 Figure 19.1  Sb 15188. Drawing of proto-­Elamite tablet
recording large amounts of cereals. Note that in publications
proto-­Elamite tablets are rotated 90° CCW, to conform with the
direction of publication of all early cuneiform tablets.
 — Jacob L. Dahl —

Owner signs
Continuing the semantic division of the signary, we can isolate a group of signs that
stand for households. Among these we find perhaps the most famous proto-­Elamite
sign, the so-­called hairy triangle sign (the basic sign is numbered M136; it always
frames another sign). M136 has been understood as a sign for the ruler of a certain
political entity, thus the variant M136g (M136 with an inscribed sign) has been iden-
tified as the sign of the ruler of Susa (Lamberg – Karlovsky 1986). We should proba-
bly understand this sign as a graphical representation of the ruler’s standard with his
mark drawn inside of it. M136 and its variants appear on some proto-­Elamite seals
as well and is found both in the text and on the sealing of the important text Sb 2801
(see Pittman 1992: 75–76, the text remains unedited, but see the preliminary copy by
K. Kelley on CDLI, P272825).

Object signs
Another semantically distinct group of signs are signs that represent objects. They
are easily identified as being qualified by numerical notations and summarized in the
totals. Only a few categories of object signs are easily identified using their graphical
referent (signs depicting vessels, etc.), the rest can only be deciphered using a mul-
tifaceted approach, including comparison with proto-­cuneiform texts, information
from the numerical system used, and more (see Dahl 2005a and 2009).
Signs from all three groups, numerical signs, object signs, and owner signs, can
have multiple semantic meanings: most importantly, perhaps, at least one numerical
sign can also function as an owner sign, but several object signs can also function as
owner signs.

Syllabic signs?
Finally, some signs were used in a complex way to describe owners. These signs, less
than 100 in total, were composed primarily of signs not used in any other context.
The few signs used in this way that indicate polyvalency, may eventually help the
decipherment of proto-­Elamite (see Dahl in press). The distribution patterns and the
sign frequencies of this particular subset of the signary all points to it being a (prim-
itive) syllabary (Dahl 2009; cf. Meriggi 1971).

GRAP HICAL SHAP E O F S IG NS

Signs can also be described according to graphical shape (avoiding, of course, the
dangers of “Schriftarchaeologie”). Proto-­Elamite signs generally fall into one of the
following four categories: loans from Mesopotamia or common origin signs (includ-
ing numerical signs); signs depicting natural objects such as plants, plant parts, or
animals; signs depicting cultural objects such as a yoke, a vessel, or a standard; and
entirely abstract signs. However, it is clear that the semantic meaning of many of
these signs is not immediately tied to their graphical referent.
A small number of signs and almost all the numerical signs and systems are either
direct loans from proto-­cuneiform or have a common origin (Englund 2004: Fig 5.14;

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 — The proto-Elamite writing system —

Dahl 2013: 247). A majority of the non-­numerical loans from the Uruk writing sys-
tem seem to be cultural objects, such as signs for dependent workers, the plough, and
certain vessels.
Object signs often depict natural objects, such as a plant, an animal, or a part
thereof. There is no evidence for the existence of signs depicting humans or human
body parts, as discussed above, and no conclusive evidence for signs depicting inan-
imate natural objects such as stones, rivers, or the like. Signs that are graphical
representations of artifacts produced by humans may form the largest single group.
Many, but not all, of these signs represent counted objects. The proliferation of signs
belonging to this group may have been due to the way in which new signs could be
generated. Another subgroup of signs depicting cultural objects are those that depict
tools or instruments, however, none of these stand for the object they actually depict.
For example, signs depicting a yoke may in fact stand for one or two workers or
animals, and a sign depicting a plough may represent a team of workers or an area
of land.
A large number of signs remain impossible to classify according to the criteria
used above, and we are forced to judge them as abstract (Englund and Damerow
1989: 22). For most, we have probably failed to find the intended graphical referent,
but there remain a number of signs whose use, in fact, suggests that they are entirely
abstract.
Many signs in proto-­Elamite consist of a combination of one or more otherwise
discrete signs inscribed one within the other to form complex graphemes. This way
of increasing the repertoire of signs and adding meaning to signs is well known from
most other early writing systems (see, e.g.,Wagensonner 2010: 299–302 for proto-­
cuneiform). Proto-­Elamite, which lacks any signs of standardization, creates complex
graphemes more freely than any other system. In proto-­Elamite, complex graphemes
can be formed in three different ways. A sign can be inscribed into another sign, a
sign can be placed next to another sign (freely formed complex grapheme, pseudo-­
ligature), or one sign can be framed by another (Dahl 2005b). The first group is par-
ticularly productive and is found both for object signs – for example, a container sign
inscribed with a numerical sign – and owner signs. The free formation of complex
graphemes observed in proto-­Elamite is likely to be a feature of the stage of writing
to which proto-­Elamite belongs.

PARATEXTUAL M ARKS
A text is not only letters on a page; many different markings add to the way the text
is read, and these are usually referred to as paratextual marks. Several different para-
textual marks can be found on the proto-­Elamite tablets. Some tablets have a double
ruling running parallel to the top edge, others have a mark in one of the corners. The
corner mark found is similar to that found on all 20 Uruk IV texts using the so-­called
EN – system (a particular numerical system of unknown properties, see Damerow
and Englund 1987). On the proto-­Elamite tablets, such a corner mark is usually
found on the upper right corner (lower right according to the original direction of
writing), and was usually made with the side of the stylus. Proto-­Elamite lacks word
dividers, and is written in scriptio continua, as most ancient scripts. Lines are divided
in most late texts using the side of a rounded stylus.

391
 — Jacob L. Dahl —

Figure 19.2  Sb 22232. Proto-­Elamite

tablet with scribal design.

SEALS AND SCRIBAL D E S IG NS

Whereas the frequency with which proto-­cuneiform tablets were sealed decreased
during the Uruk III period, and seals eventually disappeared from the cuneiform record
altogether for some 600–700 years, seal impressions are common on proto-­Elamite

392
 — The proto-Elamite writing system —

tablets from all periods (except perhaps the very latest tablets). The changing use of
seals in Mesopotamia may have been in response to the growing complexity of the
writing system.
The iconography of proto-­Elamite seals was even more restricted than that of the
Uruk period (for the Uruk material see Collon 1987: 14–15; Brandes 1979: 115–
116; for the proto-­Elamite material see Pittman 1997: 139–140), and can be broadly
classified as geometric or figurative (see Pittman 2006 for a further distinction of
the seals in to “classic style”, the “glazed steatite/piedmont style”, and the “incised
and wheelcut style”). The scenes on the vast majority of figurative proto-­Elamite
seals include animals, real or imagined, either animals (in nature), mythical animals,
processions of mythical and ordinary animals, and animals doing human tasks. The
iconography of seals from the proto-­Elamite period proper is entirely devoid of repre-
sentations of human beings (some seals from Susa levels predating the proto-­Elamite
period, e.g., Susa Acropolis 18 and 17, have depictions of humans but none from
the proto-­Elamite levels, e.g., 16–14, pace Pittman 1992: 75; 2006: 29, and 2013:
Figure 16:30 where several Uruk V style tablets are wrongly included in the proto-­
Elamite material; Amiet’s seal number 930 remains the only seal with representa-
tions of humans in the corpus, see Dahl 2014 for a discussion of this seal and the
question of human representations in proto-­Elamite seals). This lack of depictions
of humans or human body parts accords well with other forms of proto-­Elamite art
which seem to prohibit depiction of the human body.
Decorative elements appear on some seals, alone or with animals. A few seals have
“texts” consisting of a single sign from the writing system (e.g. the famous “seal of
the ruler of Susa” on Sb 2801).
In a few instances, there seems to be an overlap between the glyptic scene of the
seal and the administrative activities of the tablet on which the seal is rolled, suggest-
ing that seal iconography was related to administrative duties. A few sheep and goat
herding tablets were sealed with a seal whose imagery relates to goats (Dahl 2005a:
119). Further, the seal of the ruler with bull-­man holding lions and lion-­man holding
bulls is found on extremely high-­level texts such as Sb 2801.
On some late proto-­Elamite tablets, we find a graphical design, often in the form
of two intertwined geometric shapes, instead of a seal (Scheil 1923: 66–67 and Dahl
2012). These designs are attested on several tablets, with similar content. The pres-
ence of such a design precludes the rolling of a seal. The designs are placed in exactly
the same areas on the tablets where we would expect to find a seal, namely, on the
obverse after the text, or on the middle of the reverse. Most of these designs were
included in the sign lists accompanying the early publications. An unpublished clay
sealing from Tepe Sofalin has a rather similar design, but another clay sealing from
the same site has a clumsily etched hairy triangle (see above). These finds challenge
the way we understand the formation of early writing by suggesting a fluid interac-
tion between writing and symbols used in society (Dahl 2012).

SUMMA RY
Writing is invented more times in Iran than in any other place in the world. When the
pre-­writing technologies of the Uruk expansion spread across the Ancient Near East
they left perhaps their largest imprint on the culture then emerging in western Iran,

393
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and administrators there developed the writing system we today call proto-­Elamite.
However, this was a short-­lived invention. The proposed development towards pho-
neticism, and thus the presumed increase in utility, did not prevent the sudden and
rapid disappearance of the proto-­Elamite writing system. Traditionally, the reason
for the disappearance is sought in the collapse of the society which underpinned
it. Unfortunately, the archaeological record from Susa and other sites in Iran does
not directly, or univocally support such a scenario; the proposed abandonment of
many Iranian sites in the beginning of the 3rd millennium BC is not alone proof of
the collapse of the civilization of the proto-­Elamite writing system, which existed
in disparate and rather small settlements prior to this. It is possible that the lack
of a lexical tradition, one of the most persistent traits of the cuneiform culture in
neighboring Mesopotamia, could have contributed to the disappearance of the proto-­
Elamite writing system. The lack of standardization in proto-­Elamite, compared to
proto-­cuneiform of the Uruk III period, and the seemingly higher number of errors in
proto-­Elamite compared to proto-­cuneiform all suggest that proto-­Elamite suffered
from internal problems, which may have contributed to its disappearance. When
writing emerged in Iran again it was in the form of cuneiform, used first to write
Sumerian and Akkadian, and only secondarily the native language Elamite.
A few centuries after the reintroduction of writing into Iran, a few handfuls of
odd objects attest to the emergence of what at first appears to be a new and indige-
nous writing system, the so-­called linear-­Elamite writing system. Most linear-­Elamite
inscriptions seem to be associated with a particular monument dedicated by the enig-
matic Puzur-­Inshushinak, with little evidence of a living tradition of writing in this
script underpinning that usage. Similar, short-­lived attempts at creating independent
writing systems by rulers defining themselves through their peripheral relation to a
presumed centre are well-known from across the globe and indifferent eras.
Millennia later, scribes attached to the court of the Achaemenid king Darius II
invented the Old Persian syllabary to write Old Persian. Graphically, based on the
cuneiform script, the Old Persian writing system seems also to have had a very lim-
ited scope, but its invention attests nevertheless to an extraordinary ingenuity rarely
matched in other ancient civilizations.

AB B REVIATIO NS
MDP Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse; Mémoires de la Mission archéologique
de Perse; Mémoires de la Mission archéologique en Iran.

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396
 CHAPTER TWENTY

LINEAR ELAMITE WRITING

François Desset

INTRODU CTIO N
Discovered at the beginning of the 20th century in the French excavations of Susa
(Scheil 1905b), Linear Elamite writing had been for a long time associated with the
Proto-­Elamite tablets (de Mecquenem 1956: 200; Gelb 1963: 89) before being rec-
ognized by Hinz (1962) as an independent system (‘elamische Strichschrift’). Since
it is still undeciphered today, the current label implying its use to record the Elamite
language is quite misleading. For this reason, the label “LE writing” will be used here,
to avoid the use of the glottonym Elamite (see Desset 2012).
First labelled by Scheil in 1905 with Latin alphabet letters, 32 LE inscriptions are
currently known (Tab. 20.1 and Fig. 20.1). Of these, 18 were found in the old excava-
tions of Susa,1 one in Shahdad, four (or three) in Konar Sandal2 and nine are without
any known provenience (inscription Q might have been found near Persepolis; see Hinz
1969) and consequently suspected to be forged (Figure 20.2) (see Dahl 2009: 27 and
Moqaddam 2009: 54). Assertions that a sherd found on the surface of Gonur Depe
(Klochkov 1998: 165–167) and artefacts from Ra’s al Junayz in Oman (Glassner 2002a:
137–138 and 2002b: 363–368) are related to the LE writing are incorrect, and they will
not be considered here. This chapter also includes the complete edition of the texts X, Y
and Z, which were only partially published up to now (Mahboubian 2004: 50–55 and
Desset 2012: 120–123), while the complete copies of W and A’ are still missing.

DATING
As the first LE inscriptions found in Susa are related to the Susian leader Puzur-­
Inšušinak, contemporary with Ur-­Nammu of Ur and Gudea of Lagaš and conse-
quently dated around 2100 BC in Middle Chronology, LE writing is usually restricted
to the end of the 3rd millennium BC. But only 10 Susian texts can be related with cer-
tainty to Puzur-­Inšušinak (A, B, C, E, F, G, H, I, P and U). Except for these inscriptions,
nothing associates necessarily the 22 other texts to the epoch of that ruler. The texts
found in Shahdad and Konar Sandal (S, B’, C’, D’ and E’) come from archaeological
contexts dated to the second half of the 3rd millennium BC, while the silver vessels
with LE inscriptions X, Y, Z and F’ and the Indus-­related seal with the LE inscription
397
 Table 20.1  List of the 32 Linear Elamite inscriptions.

Text Material Description Found in Discovery place Bigraphic? Puzur-­Inshushinak’s First publication Remark
regular digs? (cuneiform mention (dating) in
or geometric akkadian?
text)
A stone? slab (fragmentary yes Susa (?) yes direct mention Scheil 1905 MDP 6
statue?)
B stone? fragmentary votive yes Susa (?) yes indirect mention (joint Scheil 1905 MDP 6
boulder? by André and Salvini
1989)
C alabaster fragmentary statue yes Susa (?) yes indirect mention Scheil 1908 MDP 10
D sandstone fragmentary votive yes Susa (?) no no Scheil 1908 MDP 10
boulder?
E sandstone slab (?) yes Susa (?) no no Scheil 1908 MDP 10
F sandstone step (?) yes Susa (?) no direct mention (cf. Scheil 1908 MDP 10
André and Salvini 1989)
G sandstone step (?) yes Susa (?) no direct mention (cf. Scheil 1908 MDP 10
André and Salvini 1989)
H sandstone step (?) yes Susa (?) no direct mention (cf. Scheil 1908 MDP 10
André and Salvini 1989)
I limestone female figure statue yes Susa (Acropolis, yes direct mention Scheil 1913 MDP 14
(goddess?) tr. 93)
J clay cone yes Susa (Acropolis) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26
K clay fragmentary cone yes Susa (Acropolis) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26
L clay fragmentary cone (?) yes Susa (Acropolis) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26
M clay fragmentary lens (?) yes Susa (Acropolis) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26
N clay tablet yes Susa (Acropolis) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26
O clay tablet yes Susa (Donjon) no no Scheil 1935 MDP 26 It is not linear
Elamite !
P gypsum ? yes Susa (Acropolis, no no de Mecquenem 1956
‘chantier 1’)
Q silver vase no Persepolis (?) no no Hinz 1969
R clay tablet yes Susa (Louvre?) no no Hinz 1969
S clay ceramic pot yes Shahdad (cemetary no no Hinz 1971
A, gr. 30)
T limestone ? yes Susa (Louvre?) no no André et Salvini
1989
U limestone step (?) yes Susa (Louvre?) no direct mention (cf. André et Salvini
André and Salvini 1989) 1989
V stone? ‘Indus’ related seal no ? no no Winkelmann 1999
W silver vase no ? no no cf. CDLI
X silver vase no ? no no Mahboubian 2004
Y silver vase no ? no no Mahboubian 2004
Z silver vase no ? no no Mahboubian 2004
A’ metal vase no ? no no Phoenix Ancient Art
catalog 2007 No. 1
item no. 47
B’ clay tablet yes Konar Sandal, tr. yes no Madjidzadeh 2011
XV
C’ clay tablet yes Konar Sandal, tr. yes no Madjidzadeh 2011
XV
D’ clay tablet no Konar Sandal, tr. yes no Madjidzadeh 2011
XV (?)
E’ clay tablet (brick?) yes Konar Sandal no no Madjidzadeh 2011 linear Elamite
south uncertain
F’ silver vase no ? no no Vallat 2011
G’ gold seal no ? no no Christie’s 2011,
14/04/2011, lot n° 321
 — François Desset —

Figure 20.1  The 32 Linear Elamite inscriptions known in 2015 (with the drawings
of Meriggi 1971, Pls. 1, 2, 3 and 4 for the inscriptions A to E and I to R, André and
Salvini 1989, Figs. 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7 for F, G, H, T and U, Hiebert and Lamberg-
Karlovsky 1992, Fig. 4 for S, Winkelmann 1999, Figs. 1 and 2 for V; the other drawings,
from W to G’, are by the author). They are not represented with the same scale.

400
Figure 20.2  Near Eastern writing systems map showing between the second half of the 3rd and the
beginning of the 2nd millennium BC the sites where have been found cuneiform texts,
Indus writing inscriptions (see Joshi and Parpola 1987), LE inscriptions
and the recently discovered geometric writing.
 — François Desset —

V might be dated by comparison around the end of the 3rd and the beginning of the
2nd millennium BC (Winkelmann 1999: 23).
The data currently available consequently show that this writing system was used
at least between 2500–2400 and 1900–1800 BC in southern Iran. The hypothesis of
a genetic link between Proto-­Elamite writing, which disappeared around 2800 BC,
and LE writing is furthermore far from being proven. It could be only accepted if
similar-­shaped signs in Proto-­Elamite and LE writings had the same logogrammatic
or phonetic value(s). As these writing systems are still not deciphered, a cautionary
approach considers LE writing as a system created ad hoc in the second half of the
3rd millennium BC, without any known ancestor or heir.

WRITING S YS TE M
Based on the number of signs used, LE writing was probably a mixed system com-
posed of many phonetic value signs (syllabograms) and few logogrammatic value
ones (Salvini 1998). While Hinz (1969: 44) accounted for 56 signs + 5 variants and
Meriggi (1971: 203–205 and 220; if we exclude the signs of the inscription O) 73
signs, including 19 variants and five logograms, the sign list presented in this chapter
(Figure 20.3; updating the list published in Desset 2012: 102) includes 258 signs plus
a dividing stroke. The signs are organized according to their shape and not to their
hypothetical logogrammatic or phonetic value(s).
As this apparent high number of signs could undermine the supposed general pho-
netic aspect of the LE writing, it should be recalled that this list includes all the signs
and their apparent and non-­apparent graphical variants (see below) for chronological
or geographical reasons (LE writing was used for at least several centuries and the
distance from Susa to Konar Sandal is 1,000 km as the crow flies). Consequently, the
real number of LE signs used in a given place at a given time was probably around
100–150 signs. This situation might be roughly compared to the 2nd millennium BC
Mycenaean Linear B with its 87 syllabic signs and around 120 logograms.
A vertical stroke was sometimes used to separate words (such as in D, Q, Z, A’, C’,
D’ or F’) or to separate clauses or sentences (in B, C, F, G, H, I), while in A, E and X,
the main semantic elements were distinguished by a carriage return to the next line.
Standing apart, Y displays a continuous unbroken sequence of signs. No numeral
notation seems to have been recorded in the inscriptions known up to now (even in
the more modest clay texts J, K, L, M, N, R, S, B’, C’, D’ and E’) since repetitions of
the same sign are extremely rare, excluding any additive numeral notation (which
was the system then used in the cuneiform and Proto-­Elamite writings). LE writing
was generally meant to be read from right to left (in rare cases it was, however, writ-
ten from left to right, such as in the 4th line of Y, one of the rectilinear lines of D as
well as probably inscriptions B and J) and from the top to the bottom.

DECIP HERM E NT
LE writing has usually been considered undeciphered since Vallat’s (1986: 345) criti-
cism of previous decipherment attempts such as those by Hinz (1962 and 1969) and
Meriggi (1971). These were mainly based on the bigraphical inscriptions of Puzur-­
Inšušinak found in Susa (cuneiform inscriptions written in Akkadian/LE inscriptions
written in an unknown language). Among them, the complete LE text A is exceptional

402
Figure 20.3  LE signs list.
 Table 20.2  Distribution of the Linear Elamite signs in the 32 inscriptions

1: A, B, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, 2: A, D, G, H, L, U, W 3: X, Y, Z
  N, Q, R, T, U, X, Y, A’, C’, F’
4: A’ 5: Y 6: E, G, H, I, K, W, X,
Y, Z, F’
7: A’ 8: A 9: Z
10: V 11: D’ 12: D, S
13: D, F, G, H, Q, A’, F’ 14: Y, Z 15: H
16: H 17: F 18: H, Y, Z
19: A’ 20: D, I, K, Q, S, X, Y, Z, F’ 21: D’
22: Y 23: Q 24: Z
25: Y 26: Z 27: Z
28: A, B, G, H 29:D, F, G, H, U 30: Q
31: C 32: D’ 33: D, I
34: F, J 35: B, I 36: Q, Y, Z
37: D 38: C 39: G, W, X, Z
40: A, C, Z 41: Z 42: Y
43: E’ 44: I 45: W, A’
46: X, Y, F’ 47: R 48: D, F, H, Q, Z
49: V, F’, G’ 50: I, Q, Y 51: Y
52: G, M 53: K 54: D
55: F, X, Z 56: D’ 57: B
58: K 59: K 60: Z
61: K 62: X 63: Y, Z, F’
64: X 65: Y 66: Z
67: B 68: D, K 69: A
70: A, C, E, F, G, H, J 71: Q, Z 72: A, B, C, E, F, G, H,
I, J, K, N, P, Q, U,
W, X, Y, Z, A’, F’
73: K 74: F, H 75: S, C’, D’, G’
76: K, N, W, Y, F’ 77: A’ 78: G, H, A’
79: D, K 80: F, G, L 81: W
82: N 83: A, B, C, D, F, G, H, I, K, 84: G, Z
    P, R, U, V, X, B’, G’
85: Y 86: W, Y 87: A, C, I
88: B 89: C, E, W 90: K
91: Y 92: A, C, D, H, M, N, Q, U 93: Z
94: B 95: B, D, I 96: X, Y, Z
97: C, D, F, H, K, Q, Y, Z 98: A, E 99: M, Y, Z, A’
100: Y 101: Y 102: F, G, H, X, Y, B’
103: J, Q, W, Z, F’ 104: H, I, N, X, Y, Z 105: G, H, Y, Z
106: D, F, F’ 107: N 108: K
109: W 110: S 111: W
112: W 113: W 114: I
115: A, B, D, F, G, H, Q, W 116: N 117: B’
118: C’ 119: X 120: Y, Z
121: W 122: L 123: W
124: A, D, E, G, H, U, Y, Z, F’ 125: B, F 126: W
127: L 128: R 129: Z
130: Q 131: W 132: A, C, F, G, H, I, K, D’
133: B, E, G, J, U, X, Y, C’ 134: I, M 135: A, E, F, I, P, X
136: D, F, Q, Z, F’ 137: A, B, C, E, Q, Z, F’ 138: I, T, X, Y
139: A, B, E, X, Y, Z 140: K, Q 141: F, H
142: W 143: W 144: W
145: W 146: D’ 147: K
148: W 149: X 150: W
151: J 152: H 153: A, B, Y
154: F 155: N 156: K
157: W 158: A, B, C, D, F, G, H 159: Q
160: Y, Z 161: Z 162: Y
163: Y 164: D 165: D
166: W 167: X 168: Y
169: A, B, D, E, F, I, Q, U, 170: D, F, G, Q, X, Y, Z, C’, F’ 171: F, I, M, W, Y, Z, A’,
D’ W, X, Y, Z, A’, F’
172: A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, 173: J 174: T
    J, K, Q, U, W, X, Y, Z, F’
175: Z 176: Q, Z 177: X, F’
178: A’, B’ 179: I, Y 180: D, Y, Z
181: K, A’ 182: A, D, E, K, M, P, C’ 183: A, B, F, H, Q, R, X,
Y, Z, F’
184: K 185: A, D, F, G, H, J, Q, 186: D’
  U, W, X, Z
187: H 188: Y 189: A, D, F, H, I, M, Y, Z
190: A, C, U 191: B, H 192: G
193: H 194: X 195: Z, F’
196: D 197: Z 198: G
199: I 200: Q 201: A, D, E, F, I, K, P, U, A’
202: B, F, H, I 203: C, E, Q 204: D
205: K 206: K, M 207: Y
208: B’ 209: W, A’ 210: I, M, Q
211: X, Y, Z 212: A, D 213: N
214: Q, Y, Z 215: X 216: W
217: D 218: Y 219: K
220: E’ 221: E’ 222: A’
223: A’ 224: A’ 225: A’
226: A’ 227: A’ 228: F’
229: F’ 230: F’ 231: X, F’
232: F’ 233: X, F’ 234: F’
235: F’ 236: F’ 237: F’
238: X 239: X 240: Z
241: Z 242: Z 243: Z
244: Y 245: Y 246: Y
247: Y 248: Y 249: Y
250: Y 251: Y 252: Y
253: Y 254: Y 255: Y
256: Y 257: G’ 258: G’
Dividing sign: B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, Q, S, U, Y, Z, A’, C’, D’, F’
 — François Desset —

since it is written on the same stone slab as a complete cuneiform Akkadian inscrip-
tion recording notably the names of Inšušinak, Puzur-­Inšušinak, Susa and Simb/
pišhuk (as well as the theonyms INANA/Ištar, Narude, and Nergal), supposed to
appear also in the LE text in a close phonetical form, whatever the language recorded
might have been (Scheil 1905a: 8–10; Meriggi 1971: 186; Sollberger and Kupper
1971: 124–125).
Thanks to LE text A, Bork (1905) could identify in 1905 the signs probably record-
ing the sounds šu (signs 201–203), ši (signs 83–86), na (sign 169) and a/ik (sign 70),
the sequence sometimes preceded by two signs interpreted by Frank (1912) in 1912 as
a divine determinative (sign 158) and the sound in (signs 28–30), the whole sequence
corresponding to the theonym dIn-­šu-­ši-­na-­a/ik. Meriggi (1971: 207) noticed that
sign 185 could be used sometimes in the place of signs 83–86 (inscriptions F, H and
U) and attributed to it the phonetic value (u)š, implying that the name of the god of
Susa could be spelled either dInšušinak or dInšušnak (Figure 20.4). Such an alterna-
tion was also observed between the sign 70 and the signs 94–95 (Figure 20.5), which
are probably graphical variants of the same sign (since they exclude each other) and

Figure 20.4  Different writings of dIn/PUZUR šušinak and texts where they are displayed.

Figure 20.5  LE signs 70 (on the left) and 94–95 (on the right) and texts where
they are displayed.

406
 — Linear Elamite writing —

not two different signs. This would prove that, even in the chancellery of Puzur-­
Inšušinak in Susa, two variants were used for the same sign.
Thanks to the theonym Inšušinak, we can gain a better understanding of this
graphical variation phenomenon. In inscription A’, this theonym was probably
also recorded. Comparing the way it was written here with its Susian counterpart,
it notably reveals graphical variation in the shape of the sign recording the sound
in (­Figure 20.6). Once this variation is understood, it seems that a Susian/Western
variant of this sign may be distinguished from a Kermanian/Eastern one, helping to
estimate roughly the geographical origin of the unprovenienced inscriptions. As the
signs probably used to write the sound in in the inscriptions Q and Z are closer to the
Susian variants than to the Kermanian ones, it can be hypothesized that these inscrip-
tions were probably written in south-­western Iran; as the signs probably used to write
the sound in in the inscriptions W and A’ are closer to the Kermanian variants than to
the Susian ones, it can be hypothesized that these inscriptions were probably written
in south-­eastern Iran (Fig 20.7). This regional variation phenomenon likely applies

Figure 20.6  LE inscriptions A’ and graphical variation of the LE sign in

between Susian texts and inscription A’.

Figure 20.7  Graphical variants of the LE sign in.

407
 — François Desset —

to many other apparently different signs, reducing consequently the number of signs
(258) identified so far.
With the few quite certain identifications mentioned above, the two main deci-
pherment attempts by Hinz and Meriggi were based on the hypothesis that the LE
inscriptions were written in the Elamite language,3 the first author considering Puzur-­
Inšušinak texts as written in the 1st person singular (like Vallat 1986: 342), the sec-
ond in the 3rd person singular. Hinz (1962: 10–16; 1969: 26, 29–43; 1971) even
proposed translations for the LE texts A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, P, Q and S, but
his work is unfortunately flawed by many mistakes and imprecisions (Vallat 1986:
342–345; 2011: 188, Stève 2000: 76; Desset 2012: 107–108, n. 24). Considering the
important geographical extension of this writing system, it is furthermore possible
that the language(s) recorded in the Kermanian (Shahdad and Konar Sandal) inscrip-
tions differed from the one written in the Susian texts (without saying that it was
perhaps an unknown or unknowable language).
The Puzur-­Inšušinak LE inscriptions still remain our best track towards the deci-
pherment of this writing system.4 The 10 inscriptions which can be attributed to
this ruler nevertheless constitute only three independent texts (inscription P is too
fragmentary and is of no use here) consisting of several sign sequences sometimes
included, sometimes omitted (Figure 20.8):

• A/B/C/E
• F/G/H (/U?)
• I

LE inscription A  is written on the same stone slab as a cuneiform Akkadian

inscription where Puzur-­Inšušinak is said to be ‘ensi of Susa, KIŠ-NÍTA of the land of
NIM, son of Simpišhuk’ (Scheil 1905a: 8–10, Meriggi 1971: 186 and Sollberger and
Kupper 1971: 124–125) while LE inscriptions F/G/H (and maybe U), according to
the hypothesis of André and Salvini (1989: 63, 69), were probably written on a mon-
ument also displaying cuneiform Akkadian inscriptions stating that Puzur-­Inšušinak
was ‘danum, lugal of Awan, son of Simpišhuk’ (Scheil 1908: 9–11; Sollberger and
Kupper 1971: 125; André and Salvini 1989: 65–67). LE inscription I was written on
the statue of a goddess bearing also a cuneiform Akkadian inscription declaring that
Puzur-­Inšušinak was only ‘ensi of Susa’ (Scheil 1913: 17–19).5
Although LE inscriptions are probably not mere translations of the cuneiform
Akkadian ones, the decipherment attempts of Hinz and Meriggi started with the
hypothesis that the title used in the cuneiform Akkadian and in the LE texts were
similar:

• A/B/C/E: ensi of Susa, KIŠ-NÍTA of the land of NIM, son of Simpišhuk

• F/G/H (/U?):  danum, lugal of Awan, son of Simpišhuk
• I: ensi of Susa

Figure 20.9 displays the synthetized version of the LE texts A/B/C/E, F/G/H and
I. Six specific sign sequences can be identified.
The sequence 1 is the theonym Inšušinak (see above).

408
Figure 20.8  The Susian EL inscriptions A/B/C/E and F/G/H (and U?) and their semantic segments.
 — François Desset —

Figure 20.9  Susian EL texts A/B/C/E, F/G/H and I (the parentheses show the
sequences which can be omitted) and the 6 specific signs sequences
(Puzur-Inšušinak titles are shown in grey).

The sequence 2 displays the signs writing the name of the ruler, Puzur-­Inšušinak.
This name is problematic since its first part is written in the cuneiform text with
the sign PUZUR4, which might be read puzrum in Akkadian (meaning ‘secret’, ‘shel-
ter’, ‘protection’) while the LE texts use three signs with very likely phonetic values.
According to Zadok (1984: 25 and 55–56), PUZUR4 could be read in Akkadian
Puzur/Puzru, maybe written pu-­zu-­ur/ru in the LE version. If an Elamite reading of
the sign PUZUR4 is chosen, then the strict Elamite equivalent kuk/kuku could not cor-
respond to the three different signs in the EL version and only the form kute-­ir (verbal
base + 3rd singular person nominal suffix; Grillot 1987: 35; 2008: 80), proposed by
Meriggi (1971: 206) and well attested in the onomastics,6 could then be accepted.
Consequently, if the reading of the sign PUZUR4, either Akkadian (puzur/puzru) or
Elamite (kute/ir), is decomposed into three syllables, pu/ku, zu/uz/te/ti, and ur/ru/er/
ir, it seems that the final syllable very probably recorded the sound r, which is conse-
quently the probable phonetic value of the LE sign 72.
The sequence 5 only appears in the texts A/B/C/E and F/G/H. As the phonetic value
of the first two signs is known, ši-­in, it has been proposed to read in this sequence the
name of the father of Puzur-­Inšušinak, Simpišhuk, which would make this sequence
the end of the title of Puzur-­Inšušinak (son of Simpišhuk; the probable complete title
of Puzur-­Inšušinak is represented in grey in Figure 20.9).7 The identification of this
sequence with the name of Simpišhuk is nevertheless problematic. According to Hinz,
these four signs should be read ši-­in-­pi-­hi to which should be added the next six signs
in text A/B/C/E to be read -iš-­hu-­ik ša-­ki-­ri (Šinpihišhuk šak-­ri, ‘son of Šinpihišhuk’).8
According to Meriggi, these four signs were to be read ši-­in-­bi-­’ to which were to
be added the next five signs in text A/B/C/E to be read iš-­hu-­ik ŠAK-ri (Šinbi’išhuk
ŠAK-ri).9 Finally, Vallat proposed to read these four signs ši-­in-­piš-­hu, to which
should be added the next three signs in text A/B/C/E to be read -uk ŠAK-ik (Šinpišhuk
ŠAK-ik) (Vallat 1986: 343). These are problematic hypotheses since none of them take
into account the text F/G/H/U. If we do so, the name of the father of Puzur-­Inšušinak

410
 — Linear Elamite writing —

was maybe written only with the four signs of the sequence 5 (ši-­in-­piš-­huk) and the
filiation (son of) expressed after differently in A/B/C/E and in F/G/H/U.
Whatever the correct hypothesis might be, the filiation of Puzur-­Inšušinak probably
closed his title, like in his cuneiform Akkadian inscriptions. Consequently, sequences 3
and 4 were included in the title of Puzur-­Inšušinak (in grey in Figure 20.9). Sequence
4 was only used in texts AB/C/E and I. These LE inscriptions are related to cuneiform
Akkadian texts where Puzur-­Inšušinak is notably said to be ‘ensi of Susa’ (see above).
The sequence 4, composed of eight signs, probably reflects this title where the top-
onym Susa should consequently appear. Hinz and Meriggi, respectively, interpreted
these 8 signs hal me-­ni-­ik šu-­si-­im-­ki (because Hinz thought Puzur-­Inšušinak’s inscrip-
tions were written in Elamite language with the 1st person singular) and hal me-­ni-­ik
šu-­še-­en-­ri (according to Meriggi, Puzur-­Inšušinak’s inscriptions were written in the
Elamite language with the 3rd person singular). Since the 5th sign of this sequence is
the sign meaning šu, this is probably the 1st sign of the toponym which was spelled
phonetically Śuśim/Šušim in the Akkadian period and Šušum in the Ur III period (while
the logogrammatic notation MÙŠ.EREN was also used at that time, as for example
in the cuneiform Akkadian inscriptions of Puzur-­Inšušinak).10 While the 5th, 6th and
7th signs of the sequence 4 could be read šu-­ši-­im, the first four signs of this sequence
probably wrote the title corresponding to ensi in the Akkadian inscriptions.
The signs sequence 3 written just after the name of Puzur-­Inšušinak in inscriptions
A/B/C/E and F/G/H is probably a title (this sign sequence is also written in inscription
J). As the title used in cuneiform Akkadian texts related to LE text A/B/C/E (‘ensi of
Susa, KIŠ-NÍTA of the land of NIM’) and in the cuneiform Akkadian texts related to
LE text F/G/H (‘danum, lugal of Awan’) are different, and as this sequence is similar
in both LE texts A/B/C/E and F/G/H, this is proof that the LE texts are not a mere
reflection of the cuneiform Akkadian texts. Both Hinz and Meriggi interpreted this
three sign sequence as SUNKI hal-­me (ki/ri), with a logogrammatic meaning (SUNKI
‘king’) for the sign 153–154. If the hypothesis that the Elamite language is behind the
LE inscriptions of Puzur-­Inšušinak is correct, it must be recalled that the title sunki
only appeared in the Medio-­Elamite period while the few Elamite titles known for
the simaškian kings and the sukkalmahs describe the first as temti and the second as
likawe/me rišaki and menik Hatamtik.11 From a chronological point of view, the title
temti seems therefore to be the closest for Puzur-­Inšušinak (if his LE inscriptions were
written in Elamite), written perhaps phonetically with the three signs of the sequence
3 (te-­em-­ti?) or only with the first of them, in a logogrammatic way (sign 153–154;
TEMTI?).
The three-­sign sequence 6 probably has a verbal meaning since it is notably writ-
ten at the end of LE inscription A and probably at the end of a clause in text F/G/H.
As the last sign of this sequence (sign 185) was supposed to have the phonetic value
(u)š (see above), it should be recalled here that the 3rd person singular of the verbal
conjugation in Elamite is written with -š.12
Based on the Puzur-­Inšušinak LE inscriptions, Hinz and Meriggi could propose logo-
grammatic and phonetic values for several signs (Hinz 1969: 44 and Meriggi 1971:
193–203, 219–220). However, only seven phonetic values, in, (a/i)k, ši, (u)š, šu, na and
(i)r and one logogrammatic value (the divine determinative) currently seem acceptable,
while the phonetic values pu/ku (?), uz/zu/te/ti (?), and the logogrammatic value TEMTI
remain plausible (see Figure 20.10, previously published in Desset 2012: 127, Figure 46).

411
 — François Desset —

Figure 20.10  List of the accepted values for LE signs (5 identifications in

the right column are uncertain).

CONCLU S IO N
Created several centuries after the disappearance of the Proto-­Elamite tablets, LE
writing was until recently considered as a phenomenon mainly restricted to Susa
in general and Puzur-­Inšušinak’s epoch (ca. 2100 BC) in particular. The discoveries,
particularly in the Kerman province (Konar Sandal and Shahdad), show that this
writing system was probably created in the second half of the 3rd millennium BC
in southern Iran (along with the newly discovered geometric writing system), inde-
pendently from the cuneiform writing system which would be only imported into
south-­western Iran from ca. 2200 BC with the Akkadian annexation of Susa (Legrain
1913). While the urban occupation completely collapsed in south-­eastern Iran in the
beginning of the 2nd millennium BC, the cuneiform writing system probably played
an important role at that time in the abandonment of the LE system in south-­western
Iran. Reducing the range of possibilities, it established itself as the only conceivable
system, initiating the long series of western imported writing systems used on the Ira-
nian plateau (cuneiform system/Aramaic derived alphabet/modified Arabic alphabet/
modified Latin alphabet).
Although our knowledge is still very restricted, it must be admitted that the LE
writing system was probably limited to a small community of users (at least much
smaller than the cuneiform one) and preferentially used for royal inscriptions on

412
 — Linear Elamite writing —

stone monuments or silver vessels, while a few clay (and more daily) documents
were also found in Susa, Shahdad and Konar Sandal. We still cannot understand the
reasons why a leader such as Puzur-­Inšušinak felt the need to write, only in some
of his inscriptions, LE texts alongside cuneiform ones. Also remaining elusive is the
relation between LE and geometric writings in the Halil Rud valley, where LE signs
could have been used to write only anthroponyms, as a kind of signature (see Desset
2014: 89–90). Understanding the bigraphical context of the use of LE writing will be
of no help in deciphering it, but it could enable us to apprehend the symbolic mean-
ing granted to these signs, referring perhaps to a specific identity that needed to be
displayed.13

NOTE S
1 Inscription O is not written with LE signs. See Dahl (2013: 257) for the hypothetical dis-
covery context of the LE texts in Susa.
2 LE texts B’, C’ and D’ were written on baked clay tablets also written with another
graphic system (see Madjidzadeh 2011 and Desset 2014). The exact nature of text E’ is
still uncertain.
3 Most of the scholars proposed this hypothesis, except Salvini (1998) who, carefully, con-
siders this point as uncertain. In Susa, LE inscriptions might also have been used to record
the Akkadian language.
4 Another track is represented by several inscribed silver vessels, including X, Y, Z, F’ and
other vessels from the Mahboubian collection I should publish soon.
5 Hinz (1962: 15–16) read the theonym Narunte in the LE inscription I. This point is, how-
ever, very far from certain and this statue should consequently not be attributed to the
goddess Narunte.
6 Contrary to the form kute/ik (passive perfective participle) advocated by Hinz (1962: 8
and Hinz and Koch 1987: 547).
7 Interestingly, this sequence is absent in the LE inscription I, which is written on the same
support as a cuneiform Akkadian inscription of Puzur-­Inšušinak where the ruler does not
qualify himself as ‘son of Simpišhuk’.
8 But according to this interpretation, Hinz (1969: 37) could not read ‘Simpišhuk’ in the
inscription F/G/H, which invalidates his work.
9 Meriggi (1971: 209) recognized that this reading was problematic for the case of the text
F/G/H.
10 For the toponym Susa, see Edzard, Farber and Sollberger 1977: 154–155; Edzard and
Farber 1974: 175–176 and 187–191; Groneberg 1980: 230; Vallat 1993: 265–271; and
Krebernik 2006: 67–72.
11 Kindatu is temti (Mahboubian 2004: 46–47), Ebarat (II) is temti (Mahboubian 2004:
48–49), Sirukduh or Siwe-­palar-­hupak is lika[w/me rišaki], meni[k Hatamtik] and
ruhu-­š[ak of ?] (Farber 1974, while Inšušinak is temti [. . .]), Siwe-­palar-­hupak is likaw/
me rišaki, menik Hatamtik and ruhu-­šak of Šilhaha (Rutten 1949 and Mahboubian
2004: 44–45; Gian Pietro Basello’s (pers. comm.) reading of Mahboubian 2004: 44–45
made clear that Siwe-­palar-­hupak is not the ruhu-­šak of Sirukduh; while Inšušinak is
said to be temti alim eliri and temti rišari, ‘temti of the Upper City’ and ‘great temti’,
and Napiriša temti and ‘leader of the army’ [?]). It seems that the title temti, used for
men at the time of Kindatu and Ebarat II, was only used for gods at the time of the
sukkalmahs.
12 Meriggi (1971: 207–209) interpreted this three-­sign sequence as du-­ni-­(u)š / duniš, ‘he/she
gave’ in Elamite.

413
 — François Desset —

13 The information available through Puzur-­Inšušinak’s inscriptions was presented here.

As previously stated, a coherent corpus of silver vessels recently discovered in the Mah-
boubian collection in London and soon to be published might constitute another track
and could play an important role in the decipherment of the LE writing.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE ELAMITE LANGUAGE

Jan Tavernier1

INTRODU CTIO N
Elamite is a language that was spoken in the southwest of Iran between at least the
23rd and the 4th century BCE; the period in which it is attested epigraphically. The
Elamite language is completely isolated and partly because of this status is not yet
fully known. There may be a distant link to the Dravidian languages (cf. McAlpin
1981) in the sense that a Proto-­Elamo-­Dravidian language which split up into a Dra-
vidian and Elamite family in the 5th millennium BCE can possibly be reconstructed,
but unfortunately this does not help modern scholars in their study of the still not
completely understood Elamite language.
The name Elam itself is not Elamite, but on the contrary was designed by the Mes-
opotamian scribes. The first name they gave to the Elamite territory was Sumerian
nim “high (land)”, of which the Akkadian equivalent was Elam(a)tum. This name
was adopted in the Bible under the form ‫( םָליֵע‬e.g. in Genesis 10:22 and 14:1; Isaiah
11:11, 21:2, 22:6; Jeremiah 25:25 and 49:35–39), and from there it reached modern
scholarship through Greek and Latin traditions.
The Elamites themselves called their land Ha(l)tamti, a name attested for the first
time in an inscription of the Old Elamite king Siwe-­palar-­hupak (Ha-­da-­am-­[ti-­ik]
in EKI 3:5; first half of the 18th century BCE). Despite the fact that its etymology is
under debate, a plausible idea is that it is composed of the Elamite words hal “land”
and temti “Lord”, that is, “land of the Lord”.
It should be noted that the grammatical description in this chapter is based on the
Elamite grammars already published and listed in Chapter 2.

P REVIOUS RESEA RCH O N THE

ELAMITE LA NG UAG E
The first study of Elamite linguistics focused on the Elamite cuneiform writing system
as attested in the Persepolis inscriptions. It appeared in 1844 (Westergaard 1844)
when only the beginning of the great Bisotun rock inscription from Darius I (521–
486 BCE), the other main source for the decipherment of the Old Persian, Babylonian
and Elamite cuneiform writing systems, was known to the scientific world.
416
 — The Elamite language —

The study of this latter inscription by the well-­known British researcher Henry
Creswicke Rawlinson constitutes the next important fact. This army officer and
later politician with a passion for the East visited the rock with its inscriptions in the
years 1835–1837, 1844 and 1847. Rawlinson edited the Old Persian and the Baby-
lonian versions but gave his notes on the Elamite version of the inscription to Edwin
Norris, who published them, accompanied by his own remarks, in 1855. This work
may safely be called the first important grammatical study of the Elamite language.
From then on, various studies of the newly discovered language appeared (e.g.
Oppert 1879), and progress on the knowledge of the language was steadily growing.
One of the issues under debate remained the name to be given to the language. In this
sense, Elamite may well be one of the languages with the greatest number of names
given to it (in chronological order):

(1) Median (Beer 1838; Westergaard 1844 and 1845; Hincks 1848; de Saulcy 18492
and 1850; Holtzmann 1851, 1852, and 1854; Oppert 1879; Strassmaier 1885;
Bertin 1888).
(2) Scythian Median (Rawlinson 1846).
(3) Elamite (Löwenstern 1850b; Sayce 1874; Jensen 1891; Hüsing 1897, 1898a,
1898b, 1898c, and 1898d; Foy 1898; Bork 1900; Foy 1900).
(4) Scythian (Oppert 1851: 105; Norris 1853 and 1855; Westergaard 1854; Spiegel
1881).
(5) Sakian (Westergaard 1854).
(6) Susian (Mordtmann 1862 and 1870; Lenormant 1874; Sayce 1874, who con-
sidered it as a dialect, next to Elamite; Halévy 1883; Budge 1888; Weis(s)bach
1890, calling Achaemenid Elamite “Neo-­Susian”, and 1894; Jensen 1891; Foy
1895; Winckler 1896; Foy 1898; Bartholomae 1901, calling Achaemenid Elamite
“Neo-­Susian”).
(7) Amardian (Sayce 1874, 1885 and 1890).
(8) Anshanite (Delattre 1883).
(9) Proto-­Median (Sayce 1885 and 1890).

Elamite became the standard name from 1900 onwards, although as late as 1928
Scheil (1928: 40) still called the language Anshanite.3
Meanwhile, the excavations at Susa yielded a large number of new texts, furthering
the research on this mysterious language. Nevertheless, these were almost exclusively
royal inscriptions, which logically distorted the researchers’ image of the Elamite lan-
guage. Almost no documentary texts were discovered. In fact, the first group of Elamite
documentary texts ever found, the so-­called Nineveh Letters (first mentioned by Strass-
maier [1885]), was excavated outside of Elam in Niniveh. In the early years of the Susa
excavations only two groups of documentary texts were discovered: the Susa Acropole
Texts (discovered in 1901) and the Susa Apadana Texts (found in the winter of 1909).
This situation drastically changed in the years 1933–1934 when Ernst Herzfeld
found thousands of Achaemenid Elamite documentary texts in the Persepolis for-
tification. At once the extant corpus was multiplied. In 1936–1938 the Persepolis
Treasury Tablets, another group of Achaemenid Elamite administrative texts, were
found. Finally, in the excavation seasons of 1972–1974 at Tall-­e Malyan (Anshan),
an archive of administrative texts was found.
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These findings gave a boost to the field of Elamite studies and scholars such
as George Glenn Cameron, Richard Treadwell Hallock, Walther Hinz, Marie-­
Joseph Steve, François Vallat, Matthew Stolper and others intensively studied
the grammar of this language. Grammatical studies are Labat 1951, Paper 1955,
D’jakonov 1967, Reiner 1969, Grillot-­Susini 1987 and 2008, Khačikjan 1998,
Stolper 2004, Krebernik 2005, Quintana Cifuentes 2010 and 2013, and Tavernier
2010 and 2011. Unfortunately, a detailed grammar of Elamite has not yet been
published.
In 1987 Walther Hinz and Heidemarie Koch published their Elamisches Wörter-
buch. Sign lists were published by Weissbach (1911; Achaemenid Elamite), Cam-
eron (1948; administrative Achaemenid Elamite), König (1965; Old, Middle and
Neo-­Elamite), Steve (1967; Middle Elamite) and Hallock (1969; administrative Ach-
aemenid Elamite). In 1992, the only syllabary comprising all periods of Elamite lin-
guistic history was published by Marie-­Joseph Steve.
Most Elamite texts were published in the series Mémoires de la Délégation en
Perse (MDP). The two main collections of pre-­Achaemenid Elamite royal inscrip-
tions are König 1965 (EKI) and Malbran-­Labat 1995 (IRS; re-­editing various EKI
texts). The Elamite versions of the Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions were studied by
Weissbach (1911) and by Vallat (1977), but the latter work was unfortunately never
published. In his study on the Bisotun inscriptions, Bae (2001) also included the
Elamite version of it.4 In any case, a general edition of all Elamite versions of these
inscriptions is still lacking.

T E X T UA L E V I D E N C E
Elamite belongs to the so-­called group of Limited Text Corpus Languages, implying
that only a limited number of texts has been found. Yet the number and variety of
Elamite texts is sufficient to enable a profound grammatical study of this language to
be conducted, provided there is the awareness that many uncertainties remain.

P ROTO - E
­ LAMITE (C. 3100–2900 BCE) AND
LINEAR ELAMITE (C. 2140 BCE)
As both writing systems are discussed in other chapters of this volume (Proto-­Elamite
by J. Dahl in Chapter 19 and Linear Elamite by F. Desset in Chapter 20), they do not
need to be dealt with here.

OLD ELAMITE (C. 2250–1500 BCE)

Old Elamite is badly documented, as the textual corpus is very limited. The oldest text
written in cuneiform Elamite is a treaty (EKI 2) between the Old Akkadian king Naram-­
Sin and a king of Awan, a region situated to the north of Susiana. Unfortunately, the name
of the Awanite king is not fully preserved, but it could be Helu or his successor Hita.
Next to this treaty there are four royal inscriptions, one of which is completely
preserved. These inscriptions were produced for king Siruktuh (c. 1800 BCE), king
Siwe-­palar-­hupak (first half of the 18th century BCE) and king Temti-­Agun (c. 1726–
1710 BCE; two inscriptions).

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The Old Elamite textual corpus also contains two documentary texts, found at
Susa (Lambert 1974) and dating from the 3rd millennium BCE. One is a small lexical
list; the other is not entirely clear. In any case, both are probably school texts.
The occurrence of Old Elamite phrases, personal names, and loanwords in Sume-
rian and Akkadian texts from this period must of course also be mentioned. As can
be expected, such texts come from Mesopotamia and Susa, where a mixed Elamite-­
Mesopotamian population was established. An example of such a phrase is zizzirik
zabarrik rišam tila rišam nap rišam (YOS 11 5:2). Van Dijk (1982: 100–102) consid-
ers these passages as Elamite incantations. However, these phrases are incomprehen-
sible, and this raises the suspicion that the Mesopotamian scribes simply put together
in an unstructured way some Elamite words they knew (riša, for instance, means
“great, big” and nap “god”). A fragment from Jena is considered by Krebernik to be
part of an Old Elamite incantation.

MIDDLE ELAMITE (C . 1 5 0 0 – 1 0 0 0 B CE )
The Middle Elamite language is commonly considered as the classical and pure
Elamite. It owes this honourable position both to its grammatical situation and to
its textual tradition. In this sense the position of Middle Elamite may be compared
to that of Old Babylonian for the Akkadian language. It is also in this period that
Elamite experienced a revival after king Humpan-­u-­mena decided to have his inscrip-
tions recorded in Elamite.
About 175 royal inscriptions in several exemplars can be assigned to this period.
They are commissioned by the kings Humpan-­u-­mena (EKI 4; IRS 21; Roche 2012
3–4; Walker 1981 192), Kitin-­Hutran I (Steve and Vallat 1989), Untash-­Napirisha
(Vallat 1983; Basello 2013; Stolper 2014 152; Vallat 2011 89; EKI 5–15; Vallat
1981: 27; IRS 22–32; MDP 41; De Maaijer 1996: 70–72, nos. 3–7; Roche 2012
5–12; Stolper and Wright 1990; Walker 1981 193–199, etc.) and his spouse Napir-­
asu (EKI 16), Shutruk-­Nahhunte I (EKI 17–28; IRS 33–4; De Maaijer 1996: 72, nos.
8–9; Roche 2012 13–16; Walker 1981 200–201), Kutir-­Nahhunte II (EKI 29–31; IRS
35–37; Roche 2012 17; Walker 1981 202–204), Shilhak-­Inshushinak I (EKI 32–59;
Grillot and Vallat 1984; IRS 38–50; Sollberger 1965; Roche 2012 18–19; Walker
1981 203–213), and Hutelutush-­Inshushinak (Stolper 2014 153; EKI 60–65; IRS
51–53), spanning a period from about 1375 BCE to about 1100 BCE. Interestingly,
one text is bilingual (Akkadian-­Elamite).
Most inscriptions, written on various materials, come from Susa and Chogha Zan-
bil, the great temple complex built by Untash-­Napirisha. Other texts originate from
Liyan (on the Persian Gulf coast), Anshan (Tall-­e Malyan) and other sites in Fars and
Khuzestan (e.g. Tepe Bormi, Tepe Pomp, Shushtar, Dizful).
Besides the royal inscriptions, an archive of administrative texts was discovered
at Anshan (Stolper 1984). This archive comprises about 200 small texts, dated to the
end of the 12th or the beginning of the 11th century BCE.
Before the reign of Humpan-­u-­mena, Akkadian was the prevailing language in
the textual corpus in both royal and documentary contexts. Nonetheless, the 15th-­
century Akkadian texts found at Haft Tappeh, the capital of the Kidinuid king Tepti-­
ahar, contain various Elamite loanwords as well as personal names. This is, of course,
not surprising, as these texts are well embedded in an Elamite cultural environment.

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NEO-­E LAMITE (C . 1 0 0 0 – 5 3 0 B CE )
Although very interesting for the study of the Elamite language, this period has until
now been the most neglected one, wedged as it is between the well-­known Middle
and Achaemenid Elamite linguistical periods.
Nevertheless, despite the lower number of texts known, the Neo-­Elamite period
may boast the largest variety in literary and documentary genres. Firstly, there are the
royal inscriptions. About 30 of them are known and can be attributed to the reigns
of the Susian kings Shutruk-­Nahhunte II (EKI 71–73; IRS 54–57), Shutur-­Nahhunte
(Vallat 2011 91), Hallutush-­Inshushinak II5 (EKI 77; IRS 58), Shilhak-­Inshushinak
II (EKI 78), Tepti-­Humpan-­Inshushinak (EKI 79–85; IRS 59–62) and Atta-­hamiti-­
Inshushinak (EKI 86–89). Secondly, some high-­ranked officials also ordered their
own inscriptions. In this context one may mention the inscriptions of Shutruru (reign
of Shutruk-­Nahhunte II; EKI 74), Hanni (c. 620 BCE; EKI 75–76) and the Persepolis
Bronze Plaque (first half of the 6th century BCE; unpublished).
The Neo-­Elamite period is the only period where we see the presence of other
literary genres, albeit only two such texts have been discovered so far. One is a hemer-
ological text (indicating favourable and unfavourable days), the other one is an omen
text, partly a translation of §71 of the Babylonian divinatory composition Iqqur īpuš
(Tavernier 2010: 214). Both texts are dated to the second half of the 7th century BCE.
Next to these literary texts are some documentary ones. The most interesting
archive of administrative texts is without doubt the so-­called Susa Acropole Archive,
consisting of about 299 texts. A smaller archive, the so-­called Susa Apadana Archive,
has a more juridical character and is composed of seven texts. Both archives are dated
to the first half of the 6th century BC.
A highly interesting corpus is certainly the Nineveh Letters, a group of about 27
diplomatic letters (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 200–201; Gorris 2013, with literature) found
at the Assyrian capital Nineveh (Weissbach 1902), Susa (MDP 9 88; MDP 36 79;
Lambert 1977) and in the Arjan tomb (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 166–167 and Pls. 91–92).
Some texts have also been found outside of Susa and its environs. The rulers of a
region called Samati (southern Luristan) left their short inscriptions on metal vases
allegedly found in the Kalmakara cave (Henkelman 2003: 214–227). There are also
three tablets from Armavir Blur (Armenia), whose character was disputed6 but that
are now believed to be fragments of a late Neo-­Elamite letter (Vallat 1997). Finally,
other late Neo-­Elamite letters are MDP 36 81 and Rezayi-­Sadr 2015.

ACHAEMENID ELAMIT E (C . 5 3 0 – 3 3 1 B CE )
The last phase of Elamite as a written language begins with the Achaemenid period.
When the Achaemenid king Darius I decided to have his glorious reign eternalized in a
large rock inscription at Bisotun, he originally chose to have it recorded in Elamite. Only
later were an Old Persian and a Babylonian version added. As his successors took over
this habit, various Elamite versions of Achaemenid royal inscriptions are now known.
The Achaemenid Royal Inscriptions are engraved on rock, weights, architectural
elements (e.g. window frames), vases and so on. The youngest one is the Elamite ver-
sion of an inscription of king Artaxerxes III (358–337 BCE).
The second major corpus of Achaemenid Elamite texts are the so-­called Persepolis
Fortification Tablets and Persepolis Treasury Tablets. The first group, named after
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the Persepolis fortification where it was discovered, consists of several thousands of

texts (Hallock 1969 and 1978; Arfaee 2008) with a purely administrative character.
Dating from 509–493 BCE, they deal especially with the ration system in the Perse-
polis region (see Henkelman 2008: 65–179 for a nice introduction). The Fortification
Archive is not yet fully published.
The Persepolis Treasury Archive found in the Persepolis Treasury (hence its mod-
ern name) is composed of various texts dating to the period 492–458 BCE. It deals
mainly with payments in silver (Cameron 1948, 1958, and 1965).
Similar texts, albeit in an extremely small number, have also been discovered in
Susa (MDP 11 308), Qaṣr-­i Abu Naṣr (but probably originating from Persepolis; cf.
Henkelman, Jones and Stolper 2006) and Kandahar (Afghanistan; Fisher and Stolper
2015) and indicate the existence of parallel archives in these administrative centres.
Especially the Kandahar textual fragments are important as they stimulate discussion
on the spread and use of Elamite language in the Achaemenid Empire.
The main characteristic of Achaemenid Elamite is the heavy influence of Old
Persian, insofar as that the Old Persian word order or other grammatical features
(e.g. increased use of prepositions) are often adopted in the Elamite versions of the
Achaemenid inscriptions. While it is very important to realize this while studying
Achaemenid Elamite grammar, one need not go so far as Gershevitch, who claimed
that Achaemenid Elamite was nothing more than alloglottographically written Old
Persian (Gershevitch 1979; contra: Tavernier 2008: 75–76).

PO S T- A
­ CHAEMENID ELA M ITE (C . 3 3 1 B CE   –
1 4 TH CENTU RY CE )
Despite the absence of Elamite texts from the post-­Achaemenid period, it is entirely
possible that the language was still spoken. The name Kamnaskires, borne by three
kings of Elymais in the 2nd and 1st centuries BCE, appears in Babylonian cunei-
form sources as Qabinaškiri (McEwan 1986) and is certainly of Elamite origin (the
Elamite form being kapniškir “treasurer”). Other examples of Elamite names attested
in the Hellenistic period are Anzaze (the wife of Kamnaskires III) and Pittit. The fact
that the coin legends of Kamnaskires I, II and III are written in Greek may well be the
result of the adoption of Greek as a monetary language. The vernacular language in
Elam may still have been Elamite.
This idea is reinforced by the New Testament. In the Acts of the Apostles (proba-
bly written about 80–90 CE) Elamite is still perceived as a separate and autonomous
language (Acts 2:9–11).
For the Sassanid period (224–642 CE), one may mention the passage in the Tal-
mud (Megillah 18a) where it is said that the Book of Esther was recited each year
on the 15th of the month Adar before the Jews of Susa in the proper language of the
region, possibly Elamite.
Finally, but also far less certain, there is the awkward language called Khuzī by var-
ious Arab authors (9th–10th centuries CE). This language is described as satanic and
incomprehensible and was certainly not Arabic, Persian, Syriac or Hebrew. Possibly
we are dealing here with a late variant of Elamite. An example is the quote by Abū
Išāq al-­Iṣṭakhrī (first half of the 10th century AD):“The common people of Khuzistān
speak Persian and Arabic, but they have also another language, Khūzī, which is neither
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Hebrew nor Syriac or Persian”. This quote was repeated by two later authors: Ibn
Hawqal (second half of the 10th century AD) and Yāqūt al-­Hamawī (1179–1229 AD).

WRITING SYSTEM AND P HO NO L O G Y

Writing system
Not surprisingly, the greatest part of Elamite texts was written by means of the Mes-
opotamian cuneiform writing system. The Elamites were just one of many peoples
adopting this system.
Two other scripts were also used in the Susa and Anshan region: the so-­called
Proto-­Elamite and Linear Elamite writing systems.
The oldest Elamite text written in cuneiform is the so-­called Naram-­Sin Treaty (cf.
supra) and the likely reason for the use of this script is that it was an international
treaty. As the Old Akkadian Empire was the most powerful of the two parties, the
selection of this system is not surprising. Unfortunately, the scarcity of Elamite texts
of the 3rd millennium impedes more profound research into the adaptation process
of the cuneiform writing system by the Elamites. As a matter of fact, only two other
such Elamite texts are known (Tavernier 2010: 202).
In the beginning, the Elamite variant of Mesopotamian cuneiform writing was an accu-
rate copy of its Mesopotamian equivalent, meaning that one can easily read Old Elamite
texts without understanding the language. There were not many Elamite peculiarities.
In the Middle Elamite period, some signs were specifically used in Elam, for exam-
ple, šà, which was used for the syllable /ša/, whereas in Mesopotamia it was used as
a Sumerogram for Akk. libbu “heart”. At the end of the same period (until c. 1100),
a development slowly started that would eventually lead to the Neo-­Elamite and
Achaemenid forms of cuneiform writing.
When after a period of about four centuries (c. 1100–700 BCE) Elamite texts reap-
pear, this development is still active. In the late Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid periods
(c. 646–330 BCE), the Elamite writing system is quite different from its contempora-
neous Mesopotamian equivalent, especially with regard to the sign shapes.
A second tendency in the evolution of the Elamite cuneiform script is simplifica-
tion. Various signs expressing the same phonemes disappear from the syllabary. An
example is the series expressing the velar stop followed by a. Whereas in the Old and
Middle Elamite periods the signs ga, ka and qa (with value ka4) are well established
in the Elamite syllabary, it is only qa (itself for the first time attested in the inscrip-
tion of Kitin-­Hutran I) that occurs in late Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid Elamite
inscriptions. The last attestation of ga is found in an inscription (EKI 72:6) of Šutruk-­
Nahhunte II (717–699), whereas the sign ka is for the last time attested in three
inscriptions (EKI 34:4, 54 ii 14 and 56:4) of Shilhak-­Inshushinak I (c. 1150–1120
BCE), whose inscriptions generally make use of qa (Steve 1992: 144).
A second aspect of simplification is the almost complete absence of polyphony
(assigning various values to one sign). Contrary to the Neo-­Babylonian contemporary
cuneiform script, each sign has only one value. The two exceptions are the signs tum
and bad. tum has two values (tum and ip), but the latter is only used to denote the
plural suffix p. bad also has two values (bad and be), but here the first value is prac-
tically only used in Elamite notations of Iranian names (other examples are listed in
Steve 1992: 145). This almost complete absence of polyphony is also found in Hittite.
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A remarkable exception to the rule of simplification is the creation of a new value

for the sign el, which in the Achaemenid period has a value ram and can also have a
value tam (Steve 1992: 164, no. 564).
As can be expected, the Elamite cuneiform writing system includes logograms, deter-
minatives and phonetic complements. The logograms may be divided in two groups:

(1) Real logograms, as attested in Mesopotamia: They are exclusively used for sub-
stantives. Some Elamite accents are nevertheless attested: e for é “house”, pi+pír
for sig5 “transferred” (normally the combination igi+pír), (še.)ì.giš for (še.)giš.ì
“oil”, and so on (cf. Stolper 2004: 69).
In Elamite, the fact that a word is considered a logogram is indicated by putting
the sign meš behind it. meš is never used to indicate plural forms, contrary to its
original Mesopotamian usage.
(2) Pseudo-­logograms: This category encompasses Elamite or even Akkadian words
that are nonetheless followed by the sign meš, as if they were logograms them-
selves. Examples are ab-­be-­bemeš for Elamite appepe “food” (Achaemenid Elamite),
ha-­almeš (Neo-­Elamite) and halmeš (Achaemenid Elamite) for Elamite hal “land”,
tar-­mumeš (Achaemenid Elamite) for Elamite tarmu, a kind of cereal, and ul-­himeš
(Neo-­and Achaemenid Elamite) for Elamite ulhi “dwelling”. An example of Akka-
dian words is za-­al-­mumeš for Akkadian ṣalmu “statue” in three late Middle Elamite
administrative texts (TTM 4:2, 6:4 and 86:24). Note also the interesting form za-­
al-­mu-­pimeš (TTM 5:2), where an Elamite plural marker is added to the Akkadian
loanword and where the whole construction is then considered a logogram.

The determinatives are similar to those of Mesopotamia, but the Mesopotamian

postpositional determinatives (e.g. mušen) were not adopted, with the exception of
meš, already discussed, and ki (e.g. Old Elamite a-­ak-­tiki, a-­ga-­dèki and a-­wa-­anki).
Phonetic complements, too, occur in Elamite. The Mesopotamian writing system
has two types of them:

(1) Those used to indicate the precise grammatical character of a logogram, for
example, dingir-­lum for ilum “god” (in the nominative case).
(2) Those used to specify the correct reading of a CVC-sign, for example, id-­didin-­nu
for id-­din-­nu.

In Elamite, only the second type is attested, for example, [an]-nu-­kurir-­na for an-­
nu-­kur-­na, du-­kašiš-­da for du-­kaš-­da, mamáš-­zí-­ka4 for máš-­zí-­ka4, pa-­rášiš-­da for
pa-­ráš-­da and so on. These phonetic complements occur predominantly in the admin-
istrative texts from the Achaemenid period.
One can also find the so-­called “broken writings”, more precisely, sequences with
a structure CV1-V2C (e.g. na-­iš). Such sequences were pronounced CV1C (e.g. /naš/).
This type of writings grew out of necessity when, in the context of the simplification
of the script, various signs (e.g. il and uš) disappeared from the syllabary in the Neo-­
Elamite period. This obliged scribes to find alternative ways to write sequences such
as /kil/ or /tuš/. Both sequences had to be written using another sign, which resulted
in spellings such as ki-­ul for /kil/ and du-­iš for /tuš/. This type of broken writings is
called “forced broken writings”.
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Nevertheless, the ancient scribes went further and started to use broken writings,
too, when the sign was not deleted from the syllabary. As a consequence of this, a
sequence /naš/ could be written na-­iš, even if the sign áš was still used.
Lastly, there are the morphological spellings. These are spellings of the type (C)
VC-VC, e.g. ba-­at-­ip ‘feet’, la-­ha-­ak-­ir-­ra “he who is hidden”. These spellings are
used to separate grammatical morphemes from the root to which they are attached.
So ba-­at-­ip stands for pat-­p (plural), whereas ir-­ra in the other example (laha-­k-­r-­a)
indicates that the root is declined here in the 3rd person animate.

P HONOL O G Y
Elamite phonology is not easy to study, for different reasons, among them the
following:

(1) The Sumero-­ Akkadian cuneiform writing system is not designed to denote
Elamite, and some Elamite sounds simply cannot be rendered by cuneiform signs.
(2) The writing system has known its own development, which also has bearing on
the study of Elamite phonology.
(3) Elamite is a language isolate, so there is no comparative material from other
languages.
(4) In all likelihood, Elamite also had its dialects, but unfortunately these are
practically unknown to us. This, too, has its influence on the study of Elamite
phonology.

Nevertheless, there are some source types that enable us to conduct research on this
topic:

(1) The rendering of Elamite lexemes and proper names in non-­Elamite texts.
(2) The rendering of non-­Elamite lexemes and proper names in Elamite texts.
(3) Graphical variations within Elamite.

This chapter does not aim to present a fully detailed discussion of Elamite phonology.
It will rather limit itself to enumerating some peculiar phonological aspects and pre-
senting a table of Elamite phonemes.
Elamite has some specific phonological aspects (cf. Grillot-­Susini 2008: 11–12).
Examples are:

  (1) In all probability, vowels had a nasal variant (as, for instance, in Lycian, with
ã and ẽ). This is indicated by spellings such as Humpan next to Hupan or suki
next to sunki.
  (2) /e/ and /i/ may be confused. This is also the case in Hittite.
  (3) Final /e/ and /i/ can be omitted.
  (4) Vowels in direct contact with each other are subject to contraction: /i/ + /a/ = /i/,
/a/ + /u/ = /o/ or /aw/, /u/ + /i/ = /u/.
  (5) Vowel length is never expressed by the Elamite cuneiform writing system.
  (6) In the later periods, a development /u/ > /i/ was active. As a result, most signs of the
u-­series (e.g. mu, nu, etc.) could also be pronounced with i. Nevertheless, the vowel

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/u/ did not disappear from the Elamite phonological inventory. Examples of this
shift are halpu-­> halpi-­, nu > ni and tallu-­> talli-­(cf. Tavernier 2007: 278–285).
  (7) The specific use of the signs u and ú strongly suggests the existence of /o/ or /
aw/ in Elamite, denoted by the sign u.
  (8) There was no distinction between voiced and voiceless consonants. Most likely,
a distinction between fortis and lenis consonants was active. This distinction
was in some cases rendered by graphic doubling of consonants.
  (9) Assimilation may occur, for example, illina < in lina “it as a gift” (Middle and
Neo-­Elamite), imme “not” < in-­me (Middle and Neo-­Elamite), ittuniš < in tuniš
“he gave to him”, ittunik < in tunik “it was given to him” (Middle and Achae-
menid Elamite; more examples in Hinz and Koch 1987: 742). As a matter of
fact, it is always n that is assimilated.
(10) The vowel i is often used as supporting vowel, for instance to connect a root
and its suffix. A nice example is the variants takme and takkime “life”. With
just two exceptions, takme is only used in Old Elamite and Middle Elamite
(Untash-­Napirisha). In the subsequent periods (Kutir-­Nahhunte II and later),
the usual form is always takkime. Only Humpan-­u-­mena prefers takkime, but
this may be the result of a Liyanite dialect, as this king may very well have orig-
inated from this place.
(11) /H/ gradually disappeared, and this in all positions:
• Initial: hiyan > iyan.
• Medial: lahliš > lališ.
• Final: tunih > tuni.

This evolution had some morphological consequences, such as the loss of the dis-
tinction between 3rd singular and 3rd plural in conjugation I (cf. infra).
The postulated Elamite phonemes are:

• Vowels: /a/, /e/, /i/, /o/, /u/ and perhaps /ə/

• Consonants

Stops Glides Affr. Sonorants

Fortis Lenis Fortis Lenis Lat. Trill Nasal
Labial p p’ (b) f or v m, m’(?)
Dental t t’ (d) n, n’(?)
Velar k k’ (g)
Palato-alveolar š č
Alveolar s s’ (z) ts l r
Laryngeal h
Retroflex ll rr

Elamite has at least the syllable types (C1)V, (C1)VC2 and (C1)VC2C3 (whereby C2
generally is /l/, /ll/, /m/, /n/ /r/, /rr/, /š/ or /h/).

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MORP HOL O G Y
Word formation
The majority of Elamite lexemes consist of one or two syllables. Attested forms are
CV (e.g. ta-­“place, put”), VC (e.g. ak “and”), VCV (e.g. iki “brother”) and CVCV
(e.g. zana “lady”). A lexeme like tinki-­“bring; remove” is doubtful. It may have a
structure CVCCV, but it is equally possible that it contains a nasalized vowel. Never-
theless, the absence of spellings without /n/ and the existence of a verb tikka-­“want”
are arguments in favour of the first theory. Another example that is dubious for the
same reason is henpe-­“to wither”.
Some roots are exclusively used for the formation of nominals, but most Elamite
roots can be used to form both nominal and verbal lexemes.
Elamite roots may produce derived words by adding a thematic vowel (e.g. mur
“place”; muru “ground; soil”), by full reduplication (e.g. hut-­ “work”; huthut
“provisions”), by reduplication of the last syllable (e.g. the PN Haltete, derived
from Halte; frequently used to form anthroponyms) or by adding suffixes (cf.
infra).
The Elamite language possesses many compounds, which may be divided into five
categories:

(1) Two nouns: kik-­murun “world, universe” (“heaven-­earth”), hal-­menir “land-­

regent” (“land/authority holder”), kap-­niškir “treasurer” (“treasure-­guardian”).
(2) Noun and its complement: nan-­hante “advice” (“word-­love”).
(3) Noun and participle: hut-­halik “sculpture” (“work-­perfected”).
(4) Two participles: huttak-­halik “handiwork, accomplishment” (“done-­perfected”).
(5) Infinitive and noun: paha-­huttip “protective (gods)” (“protect-­doers”).

NOMINAL S
Like many other languages Elamite possesses substantives, adjectives, pronouns and
nominal forms of the verb (infinitive, participle, etc.). The latter category will be dis-
cussed in the chapter on verbs.
Elamite does not have the masculine/feminine/neuter distinction. The Elamite
nominal inflection rather adheres to an animate/inanimate distinction. Examples of
both genders are:

(1) Animate: elt(i) ”eye”, nap “god”, pat “foot”, ruh “man; human being”, sunki
“king”, tepti “lord”, zana “lady”, and so on.
(2) Inanimate: hal “land”, hiš “name”, husa “wood; tree”, kap “treasure”, kat
“seat, throne, location”, kik “heaven”, kir/kur “hand”, kuk “roof; protec-
tion”, pet “battle”, siri “ear”, širi “welfare, luck”, te “favour”, ulhi “house”,
and so on.

In concordance with many other languages, Elamite has a singular and a plural.
Dual forms are not attested.

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Nouns
Nouns belonging to the animate class can belong to three personal classes in the sin-
gular, which correspond with the three persons of the verbal conjugation. The plural
does not make this distinction.
Kinship nouns (amma “mother”, atta “father”, iki “brother”, puhu “child”, šak
“son”, šutu “sister”, rutu/riti/irti “spouse”) are generally not accompanied by clas-
sifying suffixes. Only in late Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid Elamite they may take
such a suffix in combination with a possessive pronoun, for example, pak-­p-­e “his
daughters”, šak-­r-­e “his son”.
The inanimate class only has a form corresponding to the verbal 3rd person singu-
lar. No plural suffix is attested with inanimate nouns.
The classifiers are:

Animate Animate Inanimate

Person Singular Plural Singular
1st (locutive) -k
2nd (allocutive) -t
3rd (delocutive) -r -p 
-me
-n
-t

Examples:

Animate Animate Inanimate

Person Singular Plural Singular
1st (locutive) sunki-k “(I, the) king”
2nd (allocutive) sunki-t “(you, the)
king”
3rd (delocutive) sunki-r “(he, the) king” sunki-p “(they, 
the) kings” sunki-me “kingship”
siya-n “temple”
hala-t “clay”

Suffixes of the 3rd person singular are used to produce agent nouns (only in the
animate gender), for example, hutti-­r “maker” (from hut-­“to make”, with epenthetic
i), kat-­ri “throne holder, that is, regent”, lipa-­r “servant” (from lipa-­“to serve”).
In the inanimate gender, the suffix -me is used to form abstract nouns, for example,
husa-­me “forest” (from husa “wood”), lipa-­me “service”, sunki-­me “kingship” (from
sunki “king”), takki-­me “life”.

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In all likelihood, Elamite originally had two suffixes -n that could both be used
with nouns. The first one has a nominal origin and refers to a location: ayi-­n “house”,
muru-­n “earth” (from muru “ground, soil”), siya-­n “temple”, and so on. It is therefore
possible that various toponyms ending in -n, such as Awan, Hupsen, Šušan/Šušen and
Ubašin (Ubasiye in a Middle Assyrian text) in fact belong to this category of nouns.
The verbal suffix -n may be etymologically identical with the nominal suffix
and is used to construct participles, some professional names (e.g. šati-­n “priest”)
and some verbal derivative nouns (e.g. li-­n “gift”, from li-­“give, donate”; murta-­n
“establishment, installation”, from mur-­ta-­ “to put in place”). The late Elamite gen-
itive suffix -na is probably the result of a combination of this suffix and the suffix -a.
Less clear forms are those with an apparent suffix -m (e.g. siru-­m “javelin” and
titti-­m “arrow”). As a suffix -m is otherwise unknown in Elamite, it is most likely a
variant of the suffix -n.
Roots may produce nouns using more than just one suffix. For example, both Ach-
aemenid Elamite nouns muši-­n and muši-­me mean “account” and are derived from
the verb muši-­“calculate, register”.
Inanimate nouns may be followed by a suffix from the animate gender. In fact,
the delocutive singular suffix -r may indicate a nomen instrumentalis, for example,
kunni-­r “window”, suhte-­r “altar”.
Mostly the suffixes are preceded by a supportive vowel i, but sporadically the
suffix may be immediately attached to the noun, as in kat-­r-­i “throne holder”. In this
case, it is mostly followed by the vowel i.
Finally, Elamite has no real case system. The only case suffixes are genitive -na and
locative ‑na, and both are mostly attested in Neo-­or Achaemenid Elamite.

Adjectives and adjectivized participles and substantives

Elamite adjectives are not a separate morphological category and have the same
structure as substantives. They also use the same classifiers, for example, riša-­k “(I,
the) great”, riša-­r “(he, the) great”.
Sometimes a substantive which is tied to another substantive by a suffix may be
considered an adjective, for example, sunki-­r peti-­r ak tari-­r “a king, (both) hostile
and allied” (lit. “king, enemy and ally”; MDP 41 2:6; Middle Elamite).
In the later periods the genitive suffix may also form adjectives: guruš-­na “male”,
hasa-­na “adult”, munus-­na “female”, malu-­na “wooden”, puhu-­na “young”.
Passive verbal participles in -k may also have an adjectival function: halpi-­k-­a
“dead”, hani-­k “loved”, haštu-­k “venerated”, katu-­k-­a “alive”, mišnu-­k-­a ‘bad”.
These adjectives may in turn be transformed into substantives by adding the delocu-
tive suffix: hutla-­k-­r-­i “someone who is sent, envoy”, ippa-­k-­r-­a “strong one”, ištu-­k-­
r-­a “weak person, weakling”, katu-­k-­r-­a “living person”.

P RONOU NS
Personal pronouns
The personal pronouns are the only Elamite nominals using a case system. The pro-
nouns of the 1st and 2nd person have a nominative/dative form without inflectional
suffixes and an accusative form characterised by a suffix -n.
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Pers. Singular Plural

Nom./Dat. Acc. Nom./Dat. Acc.
Ancient Recent Ancient Recent Ancient Recent Ancient Recent
1st u u u-n u(-n) nika nuku nuku-n
2nd ni nu nu-n num numi numu-n numi-n
The resumptive pronoun ir, in addition to the demonstrative pronouns (cf. infra),
is used as personal pronoun of the 3rd person:

Singular Plural
Nom./ Acc. Nom./ Acc.
Dat. Dat.
Animate i-r i-r ap(pi) appi-n, appa-n (Ach. El.)
Inanimate i(-n) i(-n)

Some particular forms are attested in Achaemenid Elamite. First of all, the 1st per-
son singular accusative may be expressed by forms such as unan, unahan, unanku and
uhanaunku. Their precise etymology remains unclear. In addition, a pronoun hu, act-
ing as synonym for i(r), appears in Achaemenid Elamite. This form might be explained
by vocalic harmony, as it is only attested in the expression hu tunušta “he gave”.
Reflexive forms are Achaemenid Elamite tu-­n “oneself” and (h)isu(-ti/a) “only
himself; him personally”.

Resumptive pronouns
Nominal elements in a phrase may sometimes be referred to later on by one or more
pronouns situated immediately before the verb. Such pronouns are called resumptive.
A  nice example is dim ak dŠala lansitippa apun murtah ‘Adad and Šala, as golden
(statues) I placed them” (MDP 41 13:3). In the Middle Elamite period, they are rarely
used in pronominal clusters in a sandhi writing: a-­pu-­un du-­ni-­ih for ap u in tunih “To
them (= the gods), I gave it (= the temple)” (MDP 41 4:2var.). This is no longer the
case in the later periods where only one pronoun is used, for example, u Auramašta
un niškišni “Me, may Ahuramazda protect me” (DNae 41–42, DPfe 19–20). In this
phrase u is clearly a nominativus pendens, as the correct form should have been un.
The forms ir (animate) and i(n) (inanimate) are frequently used as resumptive pro-
nouns indicating the direct object of conjugated verbs.
In Achaemenid Elamite, kaš sometimes replaces hi as resumptive pronoun with
dative function: PN1 šak PN2 kaš kurmaka “PN1, the son of PN2, to him it was
entrusted” (PF 269:8).
The element aha (Old, Middle and Neo-­Elamite), ah (Neo-­Elamite and Achae-
menid Elamite), ha (Achaemenid Elamite) may also be used as resumptive pronoun.
In Old and Middle Elamite, it takes the corresponding classifying suffix (ahat, ahar,
ahan), but from the later Middle Elamite period onwards it starts to lose its nominal
character and eventually becomes an adverb.
Unfortunately, the precise meaning of aha is not always clear. Sometimes it is the
simple adverb of location “here” (e.g. in ir ahar murtah “I have placed it here”; MDP
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41 45:3; Middle Elamite), but according to some scholars (Hallock 1973: 148, n. 4;
Stolper 2004: 77, with literature) elsewhere, the meaning is more general and some
contexts even exclude a usage of “here”. In my opinion, this is possible, but not always
certain. The example cited by Stolper, upat lansitippa tepuh ulhi i aha kuših “I fashioned
goldened bricks, with them I built this house” can very easily be translated “I fashioned
bricks, here I built this house”. Neo-­Elamite siyan dmùš.lam šumuna erentum uhna
tipiha ah šilhah “In order to šumu the temple of Inshushinak, I fashioned stone bricks
and here/with them I strengthened (the temple)” (EKI 77:2), is not unequivocal either.

Demonstrative pronouns
Proximal demonstrative pronouns (“this”) occur in texts dated to all periods of
the Elamite linguistic history. Distal demonstratives (“that”) appear in the Achae-
menid period. The Elamite demonstratives can all be used adjectivally as well as
substantively.

Singular Plural
Proximal Distal Proximal Distal
Animate Ancient i ap
Recent (h)i hupe-r(r)i ap(pi) hupe-pi
Inanimate Ancient i

Possessive pronouns
Elamite possessive pronouns can be divided in two groups: enclitic possessive pro-
nouns and non-­enclitic possessive pronouns. One has to admit, however, that the
distinction is not that strict, as non-­enclitic pronouns can also be used as enclitic ones.
Sometimes it is even impossible to determine whether a pronoun is enclitic or not.
Non-­enclitic possessive pronouns may be used enclitically, but this can only be
determined by the spelling in cuneiform. In a spelling li-­pa-­ru-­ri for lipar-­uri “my
servant” the pronoun uri is clearly enclitic.
The non-­enclitic possessive pronouns (type 1) are actually nothing more than per-
sonal pronouns that are positioned after the possessed item and that correspond with
it by nominal classifiers.
Examples: napi-­r u-­r-­i “my god”, ayani-­p u-­pe “my relatives”, takki-­me u-­me “my
life”, rutu ni-­r-­i “your wife”, att-­e-­r-­i “his father”, lipa-­r-­i-­r-­i “his servant”, ayani-­p
nika-­p-­i “our relatives”, lipa-­p appini “their servants”. Sometimes, the suffix of
the possessed item may be omitted: ulhi nuka-­me “our house” (correctly ulhi-­me
nuka-­me), siyan appi-­me “their temple” (correctly siyan-­me appi-­me).
The i following the classifier is merely supportive and was most likely not pro-
nounced. Accordingly, a form written na-­pír-­ú-­ri was pronounced /napirur/.
Forms with more than one suffix occur already in the Middle Elamite period: tak-
ki-­me u-­mi-­ni “my life” (EKI 31:4). In Achaemenid, the forms unina and unini were
independent pronouns: petip unina inni tirimanki “the enemies that do not call them-
selves mine” (DBe II:23), taššup unina “my troops” (DBe II:18), halmi appa appuka
unini “the seal that was formerly mine” (PF 2067:11), ulhi unini-­ma-­mar “from my
house” (PF 1835:5–6).

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The enclitic possessive pronouns (type 2) have a different character, as they are
not declined and accordingly they do not respect the distinction between classes.
Nevertheless, they may be connected with the possessed item by a nominal classifier,
for example, lipar-­e-­r “his servant”. The most frequently attested one is undoubtedly
-e “his, her, its” (already in Old Elamite, li-­e11 “his gift”). The others are -ape (written
a-­pe-­e) “their”, -ni “your” and -nika “our”.
Examples: hiš-­e “his name” (Middle, Neo-­and Achaemenid Elamite), hiš-­ap-­e
“their name” (EKI 42:5 and 6, in a variant; Middle Elamite), Nahhunte-­Utu ak puhu-­e
“Nahhunte-­Utu and her children” (EKI 31:4; Middle Elamite), numun-­ni “your off-
spring” (DBe III:6; Achaemenid Elamite), tip-­ap-­e “their tablet” (Nin 1:8; Neo-­Elamite).
In Achaemenid Elamite, the pronoun -ta “my” appears in the expression atta-­ta
“my father”. The pronoun -še “his, her, its” is the Elamite rendering of the Old Ira-
nian possessive pronoun -šai > -šē “his, her, its”.

Person and Singular Plural

class Type 1 Type 2 Type 1 Type 2
Ancient Recent Ancient Recent Ancient Recent Ancient Recent
1st animate u-r(i) uri, -ta nika-pi nuka-me -nika
1st inanimate u-me(-ni) unina/i, nika-me
unan
2nd animate ni-ri -ni -ni
2nd inanimate
3rd animate i/e-r(i) -e -e/i, -še -ap(p)e -ap(p)e
3rd inanimate i-me api-me appini
hupirrini

The Elamite language also has a way to express the reflexive possessive pronoun,
by combining the noun tuh “property” with an enclitic possessive pronoun. Examples
are hiš tuh-­e “his own name” (Middle Elamite) and Kambuziya halpi tuhema halpik
“Cambyses died his own death” (DBe I:33; Achaemenid Elamite).

Relative and interrogative pronouns

The Elamite relative pronouns are akka “who” and appa “that, which”. A  plural
form akkap “who” is attested in the late Neo-­Elamite (only twice) and Achaemenid
periods. Stolper (2004: 76) argues that in Achaemenid Elamite the inanimate relative
pronoun is doubled in order to form the accusative of the animate relative pronoun.
Nonetheless, the fact that an inanimate form is used to create animate declined forms
is not very logical. The example which Stolper cites comes from the Bisotun inscrip-
tion: appi 9 sunkip appa u . . . mauriya “These are the nine kings whom I captured”
(DBe III:60). This example instead looks influenced by Old Persian syntax (the Old
Persian version having imaiy 9 xšāyaθiyā tyaiy adam agṛbāyam [DBp IV:31–32]): appi
is nothing more than the equivalent of OP imaiy (as usual), while appa corresponds
with OP tyaiy. Accordingly, appi is used here as a demonstrative, not as a relative
pronoun.

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Another aspect of Old Persian influence is the use of relative pronouns as indica-
tors of appositional relations in various ways:

(1) Between substantive and attribute: PN akka magus = Old Persian PN haya maguš
“PN the magian”, literally “PN, who is a magian” (various times in DBe); PN
akka GN-ma kurdabattiš “PN, the chief of workers at GN”, literally “PN, who
is the chief of workers at GN” (PF-NN 1509:11–12). Here the relative pronoun
is used as definite article.
(2) Between a noun and its complement: taššup appa unina “my troops”, literally
“the troops that are mine” (DBe II:18), taššup appa petipna “the troops of the
enemy”, literally “the troops that are of the enemy” (DBe II:18), tattam appa
unina = OP dātam tya manā “my law”, lit. “the law that is of me” (DNae:16).

An original Elamite usage of this pronoun seems to be its presence in dating formula: pel
appa 24-ummemana “In the 24th year” (lit. “In the year that is the 24th; PF 1202:10–11).
The invariable pronoun mur (spelled mu-­ru or mu-­ur) means “where”: u Šutruk-­
Nahhunte husahitek muru pakkah humaka “where I, Shutruk-­Nahhunte saw a husa-
hitek, it was taken along” (EKI 28A:27; Middle Elamite), kat hima mur halmarraš
hi kušik “on this terrace, where this fortress has been built” (DPfe:8; Achaemenid
Elamite), Hatamtam hatuma mur u inni um parimanka “in the area of Elam, where
I shall not be going now” (PF 1858:9; Achaemenid Elamite).
Indirect questions also appear in Elamite: mur humahšita inme turnah “I do not
know where they have brought it” (EKI 28A:23; Middle Elamite). Another example
is akka kušišta imme turnah “I do not know who has constructed it” (Walker 1981
211:8–9; Middle Elamite).
Elamite has two attested interrogative pronouns: akka “who” and appa hamak “of
what sort”. One could imagine that there was also appa “what”, but appa is never
attested as an interrogative element.

Indefinite pronouns
The relative pronoun akka with the suffix -r is in Elamite the indefinite pronoun
akkar “someone”. Although it is predominantly attested in negated clauses, it also
appears in affirmative ones in later periods.

(1) Affirmative: Mâsa akkari “a certain Mâsa” (PF-NN 2506:6–7; Achaemenid Elamite).
(2) Negated: sunkip urpuppa akkara upat aktippa inri huhtanra “(of) the former
kings, nobody made sandstone bricks” (EKI 17:1–3; Middle Elamite), sunkip
urpuppa akkara hute husahitekippa inri turnaš “(of) the former kings, nobody
has known the way to the husahitek” (EKI 28A:8; Middle Elamite), appan lak-
kimme akkari ukki inni hutta “I did harm to nobody” (DBe III:82; Achaemenid
Elamite), akkari aški . . . inni lilmak “Nobody attained something” (DBe I:40–41).

The pronoun aški (Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid Elamite) means “something” and
with negation “nothing”, as in the example cited above. Appan, only attested in Ach-
aemenid Elamite, has a meaning “ever, someday” (e.g. Akka appan lakkimme huttiš
“who has ever done harm” [DBe III:83–84]).

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Adjectival pronouns
The adjectival pronouns are unra “each” and marrita “all, entire”.

NEGATIO N
The negation is expressed by in. In Old, Middle and Neo-­Elamite (and exceptionally
also in Achaemenid Elamite) nominal classifiers may be attached to this negation
particle, resulting in forms like inki (1st singular), inri (3rd singular), inni (inanimate)
or inme (inanimate). Examples are Old Elamite inki tun “I will not be receiving” (EKI
2 IV:16), Middle Elamite inki henka “I do not implore” (MDP 41 1:4), Neo-­Elamite
inki in tununkumar “I  will not give it” (EKI 74:rev.16, with mar indicating direct
discourse), Achaemenid Elamite lipar inri kir “There is no servant” (PF 1859:16).
Clearly these suffixes make the negation particle correspond with the subject.
From the Middle Elamite period onwards, the particle inni gradually absorbs all
other forms and by the Achaemenid period it also replaces the animate forms to
become the generally but not exclusively used negating element.

PARTICL E S
Vocative
In Middle and Neo-­Elamite, the particle e indicates the vocative: e Inšušinak “O
Inshushinak”. This lexeme disappeared, although not completely (cf. malla e “O sub-
ject”; DNbe:35), in the Achaemenid period, as is proven by nu sunki akka meššin
lipnikti “You, king who will arise hereafter” (DBe III:63–64).

NUMER AL S
The Elamite numerals are poorly known, because they are nearly always written by
numbers (as is also the case in the other languages using cuneiform script). The only
fully written numeral is ki “one”, which is used with both animates (ruh ki-­r “one
man”; DBe I:60) and inanimates (pel ki-­ma “within one year”; DBe III:47).
In Achaemenid Elamite, this lexeme may also take a meaning “each”, when directly
attached to its determinatum: sut-­ku-­me sat-­ki-­me “each night and each day” (Vallat
1981, line 3; Vallat 1983, line 5; Middle Elamite). Note that, if this analysis is true,
one would have the oldest attestation of the /u/ > /i/ shift (cf. supra), as both texts are
dated to the reign of Untash-­Napirisha. More likely, however, the use of the sign ku
may be the result of vowel harmony.
In Achaemenid Elamite, the ordinal numerals are generally followed by -ummema,
-ummena or -ummemana. In all probability, one is dealing here with constructions
of the nominal suffix ‑me in combination with ‑ma and ‑na. Less frequently attested
variants are ‑umme, -mema, -mena and -memana. Fractions are denoted by the suf-
fixes -irmaki and -kurmaki.

ADVER B S
Adverbs as such are attested from the Middle Elamite period onwards. Four types
can be distinguished:

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(1) An ancient nominal form of the inanimate class: appuki-­me “formerly’, pat-­me
“below”, ukku-­me “above”, and so on.
(2) A lexeme in its naked form (no prefixes or suffixes attached): tippa “before, in
front of” (in za.barmeš tippa hutlak “copper has been sent in front of”, that is,
“copper has been issued”).
(3) A reduced determinative locative: sara “below”.
(4) A derived form of the passive participles in -k, for example, kappak “together”
(lit. “which is brought together”), šillak “strongly, very, much” (lit. “which is
reinforced, strengthened”). This type is exclusively attested in Achaemenid
Elamite.

POSTPOSITIO NS
As already mentioned, the Elamite language makes regular use of postpositions to
indicate spatial and temporal relations between different elements of a phrase. In
the Middle and early Neo-­Elamite periods, the postpositions are not very numer-
ous and are rather indicators of spatial relations (referring to place or direction).
Examples are:

(1) ma “in” (locative postposition): pinikku-­ ape inni melkah talluh ak siyan
Inšušinak-­ma tah “Their votive gifts(?) I did not destroy. I inscribed (them) and
I placed (them) in the temple of Inshushinak” (EKI 48:58; Middle Elamite).
(2) sima “before, in front of” (spatial): hunipin sima “in front of the hunipin” (EKI
2 XI:23; Old Elamite); Inšušinak napir uri i sima tah “I placed it before Inshush-
inak, my god” (EKI 20:15; Middle Elamite).
(3) sira “before, in front of” (spatial): Inšušinak ir sira ani uzzun “Inshushinak,
before him may he not walk around” (EKI 45 VI:9; Middle Elamite).
(4) tur “for”: sunkime tur hih “I  prayed for the kingdom” (EKI 4C:8; Middle
Elamite), takki ume tur hih “I prayed for my life” (MDP 41 1:3; Middle Elamite).

Note that some of these particles continue to be used in the more recent periods.
In the late Neo-­Elamite and especially the Achaemenid periods, the postpositions
become more and more frequently used. This is probably a reaction to the gradual
weakening of the Elamite nominal and syntactical system. This weakening process
took place under Old Persian influence. Examples are:

 (1) em “from”: removal from something. It is only used with the verb tu-­“take”
and a pronoun (singular i or plural ap). Example: meni Kammatta akka makuš
Kanbuziya em-­i tuš “Then Gaumāta the magian took away from Cambyses”
(DBe I:35).
 (2) hatma “in, at, for”: locative, both temporal and spatial. Examples: pel 5 hatma
“for a period of five years” (PF 312:5–6); 2 palum hatma “at two storehouses”
(PF 588:6–7).
 (3) (ik)ki “to”: direction. Examples: Mašti zana Tarriša-­ra ikki hahpuhu “To Mašti,
Lady of Tarrisa, we pay attention”, that is, “We obey Mašti, Lady of Tarriša”
(EKI 76:8; Neo-­Elamite); anka tuppi nikmar Parnaka ikki tippe tanta “When
you send a tablet from you to Parnaka” (PFa 28:12).

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 (4) ikk(i)mar: “away from” (only with animates). Examples: pap hi še.bar Kameniš
Puktena ikkamar dakima kutka “This total (of) grain was taken from Puktena at
Kamenuš to various (places)” (PF 1941:20–21); anka tuppi nikmar Parnaka ikki
tippe tanta “When you send forth a tablet from you to Parnaka” (PFa 28:12).
 (5) intukkime “because of”. Example: hupe intukkime mušimme inni hutttakka
“Because of this, the accounting was not done” (PF 2084:20).
 (6) itaka “with”. Example: meni Mimana taššup itaka meri ir taka sak “Then
Mimana, with the troops, in pursuit of him, advanced” (DBe III:32).
 (7) lakka “beyond”. Example: Yauna . . . akkap kam lakka marrišta “The Ionians
who have seized the area beyond the sea” (XPhe:20).
 (8) ma “in; for; in front of; by means of” (spatial and temporal). Example: (grain)
kantima taka “(grain) has been deposited in the storehouse” (PF 230:3), itu
šakurrizišma “in the month šakurriziš” (PF 659:5–6).
 (9) mar “from” (only with inanimates). Example: huttahamar “away from what
I did” (Lambert 1977 B:6–7; late Neo-­Elamite), Harassumar “from (the place)
Harassu” (PF 98:6–7).
(10) -na “of”, extremely frequent genitive indication. Examples: puktu Tepti Tiru-
turna “the assistance of the Lord Tirutur” (EKI 75:6; late Neo-­Elamite); sunki
tayušpe miššadanašpe-­na “king of all kinds of lands” (DNae:7–9). In the latter
example, the suffix refers to the preceding two words.
(11) sima “before, in front of” (spatial). Example: zalmi umini . . . Mašti . . .sima kitenuh
“I have protected magically my statue before Mašti” (EKI 76:4; Neo-­Elamite).
(12) šà-­ma (Hallock 1969, 753) or šama (Hinz and Koch 1987, 1128) “within,
among”. Examples: untaš šama (MDP 36 81:6; late Neo-­ Elamite, context
unclear); kuš gud hupe šama “included among those cowhides” (PF 77:8).
(13) tippa “before, in front of”. Example: 3 gud in Umpartašpena sunki tippa
makka “3 cattle in pasture(?), of the people from Umpartaš were consumed
before the king (i.e. at his court)” (PF 691:1–4).
(14) tupaka “to, in the direction of, towards; concerning”. Example: akkari aški
Kam-­ma-­ad-­da makuš tupaka inni lilmak “No one attained anything concern-
ing Gaumāta the magian” (DBe I:41; Achaemenid Elamite).
(15) ukku “on”. Examples: ahte ukkurir máštemanra “he will let accrue the interest
at his expense”, literally “his interest upon him he will let accrue” (MDP 11
302:5; late Neo-­Elamite); kutta halat ukku kutta kuš ukku “both on clay and
on parchment” (DBe IV:5).

In all likelihood, lakka and tupaka have a participial origin: la-­k “crossed”, tupa-­k
“directed, brought to”.
A real preposition is kuš “until” (attested from the Middle Elamite period onwards).

VERBAL MORP HO L O G Y
Verbal roots
Elamite verbal roots may be divided in three groups:

(1) Simple roots: li-­“give, deliver”, ta-­“put, place”, tunu-­“give, donate”, and so on.

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(2) Reduplicated roots, whereby the reduplication may express some kind of plural-
ity. There are two types:
(a) Full reduplication (C1V1 > C1V1C1V): li-­~ lili-­“give, deliver”, ta-­~ tatta-­
“put, place”.
(b) Partial reduplication:
• Repetition of the first syllable (C1V1C2V2 > C1V1C1V1C2V2): kata/u-­ ~
kakkata-­“to live”, sikka-­~ sissikka-­“to set up”, tallu/i-­~ tatallu/i-­“ to
write” (from older *taltallu-­).
• Repetition of the first consonant before the second one (C1V1C2V2 >
C1V1C1C2V2). This is the most frequent type of reduplication: hapu-­ ~
hahpu-­“to hear, listen”, hutta-­~ huhta-­“to do”, kazza-­~ kakza-­“to
forge”, kuši-­~ kukši-­“to build, construct”, pera-­~ pepra-­“to read”,
peti-­~ pepti-­“to become hostile, revolt”.
(3) Compound roots: mur “place” + ta-­“to put” > murta-­“to place, set up”. In most
cases, the verb ma-­“to put” is one of the elements: el “eye” + ma-­> elma-­“con-
sider, think”, ki/ur “hand” + ma-­ > kurma-­“to allocate”, tu(h) “self” + ma-­ >
tuma-­“to take, receive”.

Fixed combinations of nouns and verbs also exist, for example, pu/ikti ta-­“to place
help” > “to help, assist”.
Many lexemes have both nominal and verbal forms: irša “big, great/become great,
increase”, me “behind/follow”, tu(h) “property/take”, and so on. If the nominal
form ends in a consonant, the verbal root is formed by adding a vowel, as in hut
“work”/hutta “to do, make” or kuš “offspring”/kuši-­“to build, construct”.
Roots usually end in a vowel. Only in Old and Middle Elamite are some conso-
nantal roots attested: hap-­“to hear, listen” (hapti)/hapu-­ (haputni), kel-­“to com-
mand, order” (kelhuna, kelti)/keli/a-­ (kelir), kut-­“to carry; hold”/kuti/u-­. As can
be seen from the listed examples, these roots developed to vowel roots in later
periods.

CONJUGATIO NS
Elamite verbs have three conjugations. Whereas the first one is a purely verbal conju-
gation, both the second and third ones are nominal.
Conjugation I is only attested with transitive verbs and expresses a completed
action. It consists of the verbal base and personal endings. In the following table
asterisked forms are not attested as such.

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

1st -h -hu -⊘ (or -y?) -ut7
2nd -t -ht *-t *-t
3rd -š -hš -š -š

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Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural
1st kulla-h kulla-hu marri-⊘ hutta-ut
2nd hap-t hutta-ht *-t *-t
3rd hutta-š hutta-hš hutta-š hutta-š

Examples:
Due to the disappearance of /h/, late Neo-­and Achaemenid Elamite have lost the
graphic distinction between singular and plural forms, except in the forms of the 1st
person.
With regard to the 1st person singular in Achaemenid Elamite, forms like marriya,
pariya, peliya, and tenkiya apparently have a connecting phoneme /y/ between the
final /i/ of the root and the suffix /a/.
The two other conjugations could also be labelled participial conjugations, since they
are both based on the verbal participles. The main characteristic of conjugation II is the
presence of k just after the verbal root. The forms have an intransitive, passive, com-
pleted and adjectival value. The endings of this conjugation are the nominal classifiers.

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural
1st *-k-k -k-it
2nd *-k-t -k-t
3rd -k -k-p -k-⊘ -⊘-p

Examples:
Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

1st šinnu-k-it
2nd katu-k-t
3rd hutta-k hutta-k-p hutta-k-⊘ šinnu-⊘-p

As is clear from this table, some forms are not attested. Note also that in the 3rd sin-
gular (Achaemenid Elamite), the expected suffix -r is not written. When it is attached
to the passive participle it denotes a noun: halpik “dead”, halpikra “dead person”.
In Achaemenid Elamite, the 1st person suffix is always written. The same suffix
may also be attached to nouns or pronouns in order to express the verb “to be”: u
eššana appi-­ni-­k-­it “I  am their king” (XPhe:12), inni titukra-­k-­it “I  am not a liar”
(DBe III:79–80). Note that the element -it seems to be identical to the 1st plural suffix
of conjugation I (Stolper 2004: 79).

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Conjugation III is also nominal, but here the conjugational consonant is n. This
conjugation has an incomplete value and is used with transitive as well as intransitive
verbs. In Achaemenid Elamite, this conjugation is the equivalent of the Old Persian
subjunctive (which expresses future).

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

1st -n-k n-un-k -n-k n-un
2nd -n-t -n-t
3rd -n-r -n-p -n-r -n-p

Examples:

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

1st hutta-n-k turu-n-un-k na-n-k hutti-n-un
2nd hutta-n-t na-n-t
3rd hutta-n-r tahha-n-p na-n-r na-n-p

The nominal suffixes of the 1st person plural are not yet known with certitude.
Nevertheless, a suffix -un-­(followed by the first person suffix -k in the Middle Elamite
period) may probably be distilled in forms such as turununki “we say” (turu-­n-­un-­k-­i;
EKI 54 I:99; Middle Elamite) and huttinun “we make” (hutti-­n-­un; DBe II:25 etc.;
Achaemenid Elamite). The form hinunka, occurring in an unclear formula, is under
debate. Some scholars break it up in hi-­n-­un-­k (1st plural from hi-­), which is the more
probable analysis, whereas others believe it is a conjugation II 1st singular form from
hinu-­(hinu-­n-­k).
Each of these three conjugations has a parallel one, the so-­called m-­conjugation
(usually labelled Im, IIm and IIIm). These conjugations are formed by inserting -ma-­
directly after the root (hutti-­ma-­ “to do”) or after the verbal substantive (pepšir-­ma-­
“to renew”). In Achaemenid Elamite, it only occurs after the root itself.

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Conjugation Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

Im 1st -ma-h -ma
3rd -ma-h-š -ma-š -ma-š
IIm 3rd -ma-k -ma-k
IIIm 1st -ma-n-k -ma-n-un
2nd -ma-n-t
3rd -ma-n-r -ma-n-r -ma-n-p

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Examples:

Middle Elamite Achaemenid Elamite

Conjugation Person Singular Plural Singular Plural

Im 1st sahti-ma-h tu-ma
3rd liri-ma-h-š tu-ma-š tu-ma-š
IIm 3rd mišir-ma-k tu-ma-k
IIIm 1st šera-ma-n-k tiri-ma-n-un
2nd mazzi-ma-n-t
3rd pepšir-ma-n-r tu-ma-n-r tu-ma-n-p

Conjugation Im and IIm forms are rare. Only the verb tuma-­is regularly attested.
The m-­conjugations are less frequent than their counterparts. The infix -ma-­may
be an auxiliary verb, but the precise function and meaning of these conjugations are
not clear. Various proposals have been made: durative, intensitive, iterative, volunta-
tive, optative and so on.
When, from the late Neo-­Elamite period onwards, Elamites came in close contact
with Iranian-­speaking people (cf. Chapter 9 on Elamites and Iranians), more and more
Iranian influence becomes visible in the Elamite language. This has led to some degree
of systematisation in the use of the verbal conjugations in Achaemenid Elamite. The Old
Persian future forms (subjunctive) were always rendered by Elamite forms of conjuga-
tion III, whereas Old Persian presents appear in Elamite as forms of the IIIm-­conjugation.

NOMINO-­V ERBAL F O RM S
Participles
The Elamite verb has two participles, which do not take suffixes and may also have an
adjectival function. The first one is composed of the root and the suffix -k and represents
a passive form (e.g. hutta-­k “made”). It is mostly translated by a passive participle.
The second one is composed of the root and the suffix -n. It indicates an active
and incomplete action (e.g. hutta-­n “making”). The link of both participles with the
conjugations II and III is clear.

Infinitives
The verbal root without any suffixes may have the function of an infinitive, for exam-
ple, GN1-mar GN2 laki “to cross from GN1 to GN2”. An infinitive can also be noted
by a form of conjugation III: Inšušinak ur tahhanra kukunnum pitte-­n-­a “Inshush-
inak is commanding me to surround the kukunnum” (EKI 72:9–10; Neo-­Elamite),
meni ušera tupmeš talli-­ma-­n-­a “Then I ordered an inscription to be written” (XVe:24;
Achaemenid Elamite; the Old Persian equivalent is pasāva adam niyaštāyam imam
dipim nipaištanaiy). Note the subordinating suffix -a on the infinitives.
An Old Persian infinitive can be expressed by a suffixed form of conjugation III:
šaparakumme hutta-­ma-­n-­r-­a “to do battle” (frequently in DBe; Old Persian hamara-
nam cartanaiy).

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Verbal noun (cf. Grillot-­Susini 2008: 24–25)

The Elamite language has a verbal noun with the same form as the active participle.
Examples are li-­n “gift” (from li-­“to give”), murta-­n “installation” (from murta-­“to
install”) and piti-­n “transfer, assignment” (from piti-­“to transfer, reassign”).

VERBAL MO D E S
Imperative
The Middle Elamite imperative uses the conjugation I form of the 2nd singular, for
example, hap-­t “listen”, ten-­t “be merciful”. In Neo-­and Achaemenid Elamite, forms
of the 3rd singular are used: mite-­š . . . halpi-­š “go forth and slay”, hutta-­š “do”. In
enumerations, the first form may drop its ending, as in mite . . . halpi-­š. There is no
distinction between singular and plural.

Prohibitive
This mode can be indicated by conjugation III forms preceded by the particle anu/i:
anu izzun “may he not walk around”, anu titkime elmanti “Do not consider it a
lie”, hupe anu huttant “do not do this”, tumpir ani in kutunk “may I not have an
adversary”. Note also anu ur turnampi “lest they know me” (DBe I:40), which is the
equivalent of an Old Persian subjunctive (mātyamām xšnāsātiy, DBp I:52).

-ni, -na (= -ni + -a)

Conjugation I  and II forms, followed by one of these suffixes, are indications of

the precative mood. In other words, they express a wish, a desire: huttahš-­ni “may
they do”, katakt-­ni “may you live”, taš-­ni “may he put, place”, telak-­ni “may it
be dedicated”, tunuš-­ni “may he give” and so on. In Achaemenid Elamite, the Old
Persian optatives are mostly rendered by such a form. Sura-­k nima-­k-­ni and sura-­
k-­ni (both in DNbe) are two translations of the same Old Persian expression, that
is, miθa kariyaiš.
The suffixes may also be asseverative (huttah-­ni “I  really did”) or concessive
(kušik-­ni “Although he did build”).

-ti, -ta (= -ti + -a)

Verbal forms accompanied by one of these two suffixes are omnipresent in Elamite.
Nonetheless, the suffixes are mostly attested with a 3rd singular form of conjugation
I, as in huttašta “he has done”, kušišta “he has built”, or lišta “he gave, he delivered”.
In Middle Elamite, -ti and – ta often occur in subordinated clauses. In Achaemenid
Elamite, however, they are also attested in principal phrases. In the Achaemenid For-
tification and Treasury Tablets, they may indicate the end of the text.
Most likely these forms express a completed action in the past (anteriority) and
are accordingly normally translated by means of a perfect or pluperfect: akka kušišta
imme turnah “I do not know who has constructed it” (Walker 1981 211:8–9; Mid-
dle Elamite); u siyan nappanna hutta appa Kammatta akka makuš sarišta “I (re-­)

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constructed the temples of the gods that Gaumāta the magian had destroyed” (DBe
I:48–49; Achaemenid Elamite).
According to Krebernik (2005: 179–180), both suffixes may also appear after nom-
inal forms, for example, after pronouns and indications of some quantity (marpipta
“all, everything”, hupe marrita “all that”, 2-pipta “all two (of them), both”) and
adverbs (amta “presently”). Here too, the suffixes seem to express some sort of com-
pleteness, a quantitative totality.

-a

In general, this suffix is the last morpheme of a cluster, but again exceptions are
attested, for example, kuši-­š-­t-­a-­p “women who have given birth” (Achaemenid
Elamite).
The suffix -a can have two functions:

(1) As an indication of subordination. In this sense, it was originally the indication of

nominal predicates of a subordinate clause. In Achaemenid Elamite, it is usually
attested after subordinated verbal forms. When, however, the clause was accom-
panied by a relative pronoun or a conjunction, it could be omitted.
(2) The suffix may also have a coordinating function: maurriša appin halpiš “He
captured and slew them” (DBe III:33–34).

In both cases, it connects phrases or parts of phrases and thus helps to bring some
structure in the text.

SYNTA X
Syntactic relations
Many languages express their syntactic relations by means of a causal system. Elamite
was not one of them, albeit it is not void of any causal element either (cf. supra).
Lacking such a causal system, Elamite had to find other ways to express its syn-
tactical relations. In fact, Elamite used a system of classifying suffixes and relational
particles. Thereby the word order is very important. The usual word order is:

subject (+ classifier) – indirect object (+ classifier) – direct object (+ classifier) –

resumptive pronoun(s) – verb.

Examples:

(1) u siyan kuših Inšušinak ak Simut ap in tunih “I constructed the temple. The gods
Inshushinak and Simut, to them I gave it” (MDP 41 4:2var.; Middle Elamite).
(2) Par-­Uli pak hanikuri i tunih “To my dearest daughter Par-­Uli I  gave it” (Soll-
berger 1965: 31:8–11; Middle Elamite).

In the later periods, word order became freer, partly because of the emergence and
frequent use of postpositions to indicate the precise relations between words. This

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emergence was in any case partially due to influence from the Indo-­European Iranian
languages, in particular Old Persian, with which the Elamites came into intense con-
tact in the Neo-­Elamite period.
In Elamite, classifying suffixes are used to indicate the precise relationship between
a noun and its complement(s). As already mentioned, they can be found anywhere,
not only after substantives or pronouns but also after the negation particle or locative
adverbs (e.g. aha).
If A is determined by B, the structure of the group is A-suffix B-suffix, for example,
sunki-­k Anšan-­i-­k “I, the king of Anshan” (whereby i has no morphological value),
u sunki-­k Hatamti-­k “I, the king of Elam”, PN sunki-­r Hatamti-­r “PN, the king of
Elam”; siyan Upurkupak zana hute-­hiši-­p-­ri-­ni “the temple of Upurkupak, the Lady
of the noble ones” (EKI 64:6; Middle Elamite).
So-­called relational particles (e.g. pat “foot”, šara “under”, ukku “head; on”), in
combination with classifiers, are used to indicate spatial relationships between nouns
or pronouns: pat-­r “he who is under”, šara-­r “he who is below”, ukku-­p “those who
are above”.
Examples:

(1) petir uri ni patr ur tatni “my enemy, may you place (him) below me”, literally
“my enemy (peti-­r u-­ri), you (ni) below (pat-­r) me (u-­r) may you place (ta-­
t-­ni)”. (EKI 45 IV:8–9; Middle Elamite). Here the classifier -r-­ connects pat
and u.
(2) Untaš-­Napiriša ukkur ir murtan “putting Untash-­Napirisha on top of him”, lit-
erally “Untash-­Napirisha on top of (ukku-­r) him (i-­r) putting (murta-­n)” (MDP
41 44:3; Middle Elamite).
(3) Nahhunte ir šarara ani uzzun “Nahhunte (= the sun), may he not walk around
under him”, literally “Nahhunte, him (i-­r) under (šara-­r-­a) not (ani) may he walk
(uzzu-­n)” (EKI 45 8:6; Middle Elamite).
(4) zuhmutu . . . Inšušinak napir ur(i) i sima-­Ø tah “The stela, . . ., I have put it
before Inshushinak, my god”, literally “stela (zuhmutu), Inshushinak, my god
(napi-­r u-­r-­i), it (i) before (sima) I have put (tu-­h)” (EKI 22:5–7; Middle Elamite).
(5) Petip . . . patp up rappakna “May the enemies . . . be bound under me”, literally
“the enemies (pet-­i-­p) under (pat-­p) me (u-­p) may they be bound (rappa-­k-­na)”
(EKI 54 I:90; Middle Elamite).

In Achaemenid Elamite, these constructions still exist, but the majority of syntactic
relations are expressed by the postpositions. An example of the older construction is
sunki-­r murun hi ukku-­r “king on this earth”, literally “king earth this on” (frequent
in Achaemenid Elamite; the Old Persian equivalent is xšāyaθiya ahyāyā būmiyā).

COORDINATIO N
Coordination is expressed in Elamite both asyndetically and syndetically by means
of the conjunction ak. In Achaemenid Elamite (royal inscriptions), this lexeme is also
used to introduce a paragraph.
Kutta “and” is especially attested in Achaemenid Elamite and therefore scholars
have long thought that it was a compound of Elamite ak and Old Persian utā “and”.

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Nevertheless, this hypothesis is weakened by the occurrence of ku-­da in a late Neo-­

Elamite inscription (EKI 76:15). Furthermore, it would be strange to have a compound
with words from both Elamite and Old Persian. On the other hand, ak and kutta can
be combined in enumerations, for example, Parsip ak kutta matap ak kutta tayuš appa
taye “The Persians as well as the Medes as well as the other nations” (DBe I:36).

SUB ORDINATIO N
Originally, subordinate phrases were inserted in the text asyndetically (i.e. without
being introduced by a subordinating conjunction). They took a particle -a to indicate
the subordination. Examples are:

(1) u Šutruk-­Nahhunte Inšušinak napir uri ur tahhanra Akkat halpuh “me, Shutruk-­
Nahhunte (u Šutruk-­Nahhunte), my god Inshushinak (Inšušinak napi-­r u-­ri) me
(u-­r) commanding (tahha-­n-­r-­a), I destroyed (halpu-­h) Akkad (Akkat)”, or, alter-
natively, “when my god Inshushinak, commanded it to me, Shutruk-­Nahhunte,
I destroyed Akkad” (EKI 24a:5; Middle Elamite). Here tahhanra is made subor-
dinate by the presence of the suffix -a.
(2) Pelala kullanka kulla ur tumpanra ak turunka huttanra Siyankuk siyan ime
upat hussipme kuših “I have built (kuši-­h) with baked bricks (upat hussi-­p-­me)
the Siyankuk, her temple (siyan i-­me), for Pelala, who, when I  implore (her)
(kulla-­n-­k-­a), fulfills (tumpa-­n-­r-­a) the prayer (kulla) for me (u-­r), and, when
I say (something) (turun-­k-­a), effectuates it (hutta-­n-­r-­a)” (EKI 10b:2–3; Mid-
dle Elamite), literally “for Pelala, I imploring (her), fulfilling the prayer for me
and, I  telling (something), effectuating it, the Siyankuk, his temple, of bricks
I constructed”.

It is clear that the distinction between the relative and the various possible adverbial
clauses is not always very visible, as the last phrase may also be translated “because
Pelala fulfills the prayer for me when I  implore (her) and executes (it) when I  say
(something), I have built the Siyankuk, her temple, with baked bricks”.
The form intikka is disputed. Some scholars see in it a subordinating particle indi-
cating the goal. They analyse the form as a passive participle of inti-­“to intend” in
phrases such as intikka ak . . . kuših “so that . . . I built”, literally “was intended
and . . . I built”. Others consider it an adverb, the forerunner of Achaemenid Elamite
intukkime, meaning “for that reason, therefore”. The contexts in which this lexeme
occurs not being entirely clear, the debate will probably continue.
Besides the asyndetic construction, subordinate phrases may also be expressed
by subordinating conjunctions. This happened more frequently in the late Neo-­
Elamite and Achaemenid periods. Such conjunctions are anka “when”, appa anka
“after”, kuš “until”, meni sap anka “after”, sap “while, when”, sap appa “when”
and sap innu “as long as”. Usually the subordinate phrase is situated before the
main verb.
In Achaemenid Elamite, the subordinated verb is rendered by Conjugation III
or IIIm form. This only happens, however, when the main verb is šera-­“command,
order” (e.g. meni u šera tupmeš tallimana “then I ordered an inscription to be written”;
XVe:24).

443
 — Ja n Ta v e r n i e r —

DIRECT DIS CO U RS E
In Neo-­Elamite and Achaemenid Elamite, direct discourse is indicated by -man-­k (1st
singular), -ma-­r (3rd singular) or -ma-­p (3rd plural), all positioned at the end of the
direct discourse. Possibly, these three forms belong to a verb ma-­“say”, as might be
suggested by the following examples: ir unsaha ma-­ra tirinra “ ‘I paid him’, he says”
(MDP 9 306:2; Neo-­Elamite), hamer 6 kušukum hatuma tamušam Anturzana hutta
mara “At that time he said: ‘In 6 kušukum I  made the libations of Anturza’ ” (PF
770:10; Achaemenid Elamite).
In Achaemenid Elamite, the most used verbum dicendi, used to introduce the direct
discourse, is tiri-­“say” (e.g. hi zila ap tiriya miteš . . . halpiš “He spoke thus to them:
‘Go . . . and kill’ ”; DBe II:14–15), but na-­“say” and titu-­“lie” are also attested in this
role (e.g. titukka nanri “he lied, saying”; DBe III:49; Achaemenid Elamite).
One specific class of documents was always considered direct discourse, not only
in the Elamite culture, but basically in all Ancient Near Eastern cultures: letters. This
is made clear by the introductory formulas (e.g. PN turuš PN2 nan turuš “Say to PN,
PN2 says, saying”). The combination of na-­ and tiri-­ is also found in Achaemenid
Elamite: PN u tiriša nanri gud inni šari. . .mara “PN spoke to me, saying: ‘The cattle
is not at hand’ ” (PF 1792:6–7).

AB B REVIATIO NS
DBe  Elamite text of the Bisotun inscriptions of Darius the Great. See Bae 2001
and Aliyari Babolghani 2015.
DBp Old Persian text of the Bisotun inscriptions of Darius the Great.
EKI Royal inscriptions in Elamite in König 1965.
IRS Brick inscriptions in Elamite and Akkadian from Susa (and Chogha Zan-
bil) in Malbran-­Labat 1995.
MDP 9 Administrative tablets from the Acropole of Susa published in Scheil 1907.
MDP 11 Elamite inscriptions and tablets in Scheil 1911.
MDP 36 Elamite tablets in Paper 1954.
MDP 41 Royal inscriptions in Elamite and Akkadian from Chogha Zanbil in Steve
1967.
PF Elamite administrative tablets from the Persepolis Fortification archive in
Hallock 1969.
PF-NN Unpublished Persepolis Fortification tablets edited by R.T. Hallock, now
collated by W.F.M. Henkelman and partially available online through
OCHRE (Online Cultural and Historical Research Environment, Persepolis
Fortification Archive Online, http://ochre.lib.uchicago.edu/PFA_Online/).
TTM Elamite tablets (mainly administrative) from Tall-­e Malyan in Stolper 1984.
YOS 11 Incantations in Van Dijk et al. 1985.

NOTE S
1 This research has been funded by the Interuniversity Attraction Poles Programme initiated
by the Belgian Science Policy Office (IAP VII/14: “Greater Mesopotamia: Reconstruction of
its Environment and History”).

444
 — The Elamite language —

2 Some critical remarks on de Saulcy’s ideas, more precisely on the alleged close relationship
between “Median” and Turkish, were uttered by Löwenstern (1850a).
3 See Basello 2004 and, more recently, Lindner 2015: 276–297.
4 See now Aliyari Babolghani 2015, Henkelman et  al. 2017 and Henkelman and Kuhrt
forthcoming.
5 On the name form (Hallutush-­
Inshushinak and not, as usually mentioned, Hallutash-­
Inshushinak), see Tavernier 2014.
6 According to Diakonoff and Jankowska (1990) the three tablets are Neo-­Elamite fragments
of an Elamite version of Gilgamesh, but that seems very unlikely. Koch (1993) assumes that
one is dealing here with Achaemenid Elamite administrative texts.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

WRITING IN ELAM

Jean-­Jacques Glassner*

W riting is an artifact created by man, the only animal to make use of it, and as
the product of culture it needs to be taught. At its core, writing requires a con-
cept, which means that a pre-­or proto-­writing could not have existed. Writing was
invented four times in different geographic areas, in Sumer, Egypt, China and Meso-
america. According to our current state of knowledge, it was in the land of Sumer
that the first writing saw light of day in the 34th century BC. These four writing
systems had in common that each of their signs had multiple values, which translated
words or syllables. They were mixed systems.
The invention of writing was a major cultural phenomenon, even if its true scope
escapes us. It was not the fruit of a lonely and wild imagination, but the conscious
and deliberate effort of a society to build a coherent, meaningful system. Writing
presupposes an intense conceptual activity, the very condition of its existence, and its
inventors were aware that it would be in danger of disappearing if it was not taught.

P ROTO-­E LAMITE W RITING

The times and places
The Banesh culture that flourished in Iran between 3400 and 2300–2200 BC was
named after a village situated in the Kor basin about ten kilometers north of the most
important city, Tall-­e Malyan/Anshan. Its people engaged in the intensive cultivation
of cereals and reared small livestock. Here at around 3300 an original form of writing
known as proto-­Elamite was invented. Since the script remains undeciphered and the
language it conveyed unknown, however, it is not presently justifiable to use this term,
which refers to the Elamite culture that later expanded in the same geographical area.
If one follows the recent findings of Naomi Miller and William Sumner (2004:
79–89), the Banesh culture was not extinguished between 2900–2800 as believed until
recently, but lasted almost until the Kaftari succeeded it at around 2200. There is no
reason for proto-­Elamite writing to have been abandoned prior to this date. This per-
haps permits us to interpret a writing sign discovered on a seal from Ra’s al-­Jinz in
Oman (ancient Magan) as an imitation of a proto-­Elamite sign (Glassner 1999).

450
 — Writing in Elam —

Figure 22.1  Seal from Oman; proto-­Elamite sign m453.

The most accurate chronological data are offered by archaeological excavations

carried out at Susa and Tall-­e Malyan. Writing made its appearance at Susa in the
archaeological level 17B of the Acropolis, and its last attestation was in level 14B.
The Tappeh Sialk tablets are contemporary with the oldest tablets from Susa (level
17B), at the turning point of the Uruk IV and III, while those of Tall-­e Malyan and
Shahr-­e Sokhta are the most recent tablets (Susa levels 15A-14B) (Dahl, Petrie and
Potts 2013: 370, Figure  18.17). There is nothing to contradict the hypothesis that
proto-­Elamite writing continued beyond this date.
This first writing appeared shortly after the invention of writing in Mesopotamia,
possibly as early as Uruk IV, and evidence of this is spread throughout the Iranian
plateau and its immediate surroundings: Susa (around 1600 tablets), Tal-­e Gazir (1
tablet), Tal-­e Malyan (32 tablets), Tappeh Sialk (7 tablets), Tepe Ozbaki (1 tablet),
Tepe Yahya (26 tablets), Shahr-­e Sokhta (1 tablet) and Tepe Sofalin (numerous tablets
of which 12 are published).
Notwithstanding the extent of the envisaged geographic area, it would be prema-
ture to think that Iran at that time formed a unique and homogeneous cultural space.
The city of Susa, for example, a border town rich in contacts, had previously been
a part of the cultural area of Uruk and was still subject to its influence as indicated
by the persistence of the use of cylinder seals in place of stamp seals, as was the case
in Tall-­e Malyan. Writing was certainly the tool used by scribes to communicate
amongst themselves in a written language that was not necessarily the same as that
or those which were spoken.

Language
One piece of evidence that could plead in favour of Elamite as the language represented
by proto-­Elamite is the presence of two divine names, lugal-­Aratta (LAM×KUR-RU)
and lugal-­Elam (written lugal-­NIM, the usual logogram for designating Elam in Mes-
opotamia), in a list of Sumerian gods of the 26th century; they slightly precede that
of the Inshushinak (NIN-MÙŠ-ERIN), the god of Susa (Mander 1986: 7 and 25, nos.
62–63 and 71). This document shows that from this time the Sumerians designated

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their Iranian neighbour with the help of the sign NIM, which was perhaps read as
Elam.
For Robert Englund and Jacob Dahl, the proto-­Elamite documents could have
reproduced an administrative syntax but not the spoken language. We now know
that writing was never used to reproduce the spoken language, and it has a syntax of
its own. It is another way of using words. In reality, these two authors emphasise the
fact that these texts were not detailed presentations of sequences of facts, in short, not
narrative compositions. In these texts there was neither temporality nor plot, and the
temptation of a reading of a narratological type misses its purpose. These documents
have all the appearance of texts that oral language could not have produced, the texts
that are characterised by their nuclear writing, a structure that gives them a rigid
appearance, the expression of silent ceremonials. However, and as these two authors
recognised, even if we ignore their semantic value, the signs speak of the names of
numbers, of accounting units, and of quantifying goods as well as agents at work.

The corpus: the Urukean influence

The corpus consisted of about 1,200 to 1,400 graphs, including 17 numeral signs;
but it is very probably necessary to reduce this number, as variants of the same sign
can be numerous. It was inspired by the Mesopotamian model and several features
militate in favour of this thesis:

• the notations of the numbers were identical and the accounting procedures were
of sexagesimal and bi-­sexagesimal types;
• a certain number of signs of the proto-­Elamite corpus were identical to those of
the Urukean writing. Here are some examples (Figure 22.2):

Without doubt one can only note here the formal resemblances of the signs with-
out knowing their semantic values in proto-­Elamite, which weakens the argument.
We observe, however, several significant points:

• The proto-­Elamite sign m145 reproduces identically the graphic variants of the
Urukean sign é, líl, kid (Figure 22.3);
• There are at least two examples where the values of the signs are conjoined: the
proto-­Elamite signs representing wines and goats are the same as those of Uruk
(Figure 22.4).

On the other hand, the Iranians were not content to make indivisible primitive
signs, they manipulated them to obtain derived signs using the same procedures as the
Urukeans (Glassner 2003: Chapter 7): two signs are designed to mirror each other;
the doubling, tripling or quadrupling of a sign; the juxtaposition of different signs;
the interweaving of different signs; the addition of graphic modifiers like hatches or
entangled marks; the creation of a matrix with sub-­scripts. In this way they produced
families of signs.
The borrowing was therefore not confined, as presumed by R. Englund and J.
Dahl, to only the notation of numbers, because relations between Iran and Mesopo-
tamia were not interrupted after the Uruk IV period when Susa fell again into the
Iranian cultural lap.
452
 Figure 22.2  Comparison between Urukean and proto-­Elamite signs.

Figure 22.3  The Urukean sign é, líl, and kid; the proto-­Elamite sign m145.
 — J e a n - ­J a c q u e s G l a s s n e r —

Figure 22.4  The signs maš and udu; and the signs m006, m006a, and m197.

Figure 22.5  The signs kalam and gan; the signs m206 and m217.

An important indication of contact between Mesopotamia and Iran is the site of

Godin Tepe near the Kangavar Valley, consequently outside of the Uruk cultural area
and dated to the Uruk IV period: the texts which were discovered there were limited to
numeral notations, except for one sign which undoubtedly represented a commodity.
All written signs found there were of the Mesopotamian type. The carriers of the Uruk
culture were concentrated within a limited oval area delimited by a wall pierced by a
single gate in the middle of an indigenous habitat. Thus a contamination was possible.
But the relationships within Mesopotamia did not stop in this period: some variants
of proto-­Elamite signs were derived from signs of the Djemdet-­Nasr era (Figure 22.5).

The corpus: an original system

Notwithstanding what has been said, the proto-­Elamite system reveals a significant adap-
tation (Englund 2004).1 It presents a high degree of autonomy from the Urukean system
and attests to a great originality. This is demonstrated by the presence of a decimal-­based
accounting system, unknown in Mesopotamia; also by the fact that the vast majority of
signs present great differences from the Urukean signs; finally by the fact that the signs,
unlike at Uruk, were generally distributed over the surface of the medium without sep-
aration by lines or boxes.

The corpus: a mixed writing

This was a mixed logo-­syllabic writing, the scribe having the choice to write the words
by means of logograms or syllabograms. One can assume that the long sequences of
graphemes corresponded to a syllabic writing.2

The function of writing

Proto-­
Elamite writing, finally, was a system whose ambition was restrained; it
recorded only documents of an administrative nature, accounts of herd management,

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man power, grain production, perhaps some surface measurements.3 Statements were
subdivided into three registers: headers; individual entries with the quantification of
items, names of items and names of agents; and totals.
The scribes understood, like their Urukean colleagues, that their invention would
be threatened with extinction if it was not taught and learnt. Fortunately, at least two
school texts have survived (MDP 17 328 and MDP 26 362: Friberg 1978–1979).

LINEAR ELAMITE W RITING

Times and places
After the disappearance of proto-­Elamite during the Akkadian period (2300–2100),
the Susiana was reintegrated into the sphere of influence of Mesopotamia, where Old
Akkadian cuneiform writing was in use. A treaty in Elamite between a king of Elam
and Naram-­Sin has been preserved for us in an Old Babylonian copy.
But a new Iranian writing, the so-­called linear Elamite, appeared at roughly the
same time. It was in use only for a short duration, disappearing at the end of the 20th
century.
We have at our disposal only a total of 30 examples, of which 26 are incontest-
able. They are spread throughout the Iranian plateau, from Susa to Shahdad and
Gonur Depe, passing through the vicinity of Persepolis and perhaps Konar Sandal.
A last document, a stamp seal, originates from Dilmun. Several of these, mostly silver
vessels, are of unknown origin.4 Essentially these were documents for display; offi-
cial inscriptions in stone, on silver vessels or on stamp seals. More modest was the
ceramic vase from Gonur, a jar from Shahdad and two tablets from Susa. No direct
borrowing from one type of writing to the other can be perceived.
The partially bilingual inscriptions coming from Susa place linear Elamite in rela-
tion with the name of an Elamite king, Puzur-­Inshushinak, who bequeathed to poster-
ity texts in Akkadian cuneiform writing and texts in linear writing. In the Akkadian
sources he sometimes calls himself “ensi of Susa”, “ensi of Susa and shakkanakku
of Elam”, and finally, the god Inshushinak having offered him the rule over the four
banks of the world, “the strong, king of Awan”. It is thought that he was originally
from Susa, that he monopolised power in Elam whose capital was then Anshan/Tall-­e
Malyan, and that he conquered Awan, a toponym not yet located geographically, as
well as numerous cities and countries. He placed emphasis on the submission of a
king of Simashki. In short, he was a conqueror and a legislator (Gelb and Kienast
1990: 321–324, Puzur-­Inšušinak 1). But his conquests were useless, since Ur-­Namma
of Ur quickly seized the cities and countries that he had taken by force (Wilcke 1987:
108–111). His kingdom was therefore situated at the end of the 22nd or early 21st
century.
The simultaneous use of two writings, one Akkadian and one Iranian by Puzur-­
Insusinak, at least at Susa (a city situated on the frontier separating Mesopotamia
and Iran, and influenced by both cultures), suggests that he made official use of two
languages, Akkadian and an unknown language, and of two writings.
His royal name at least offers us an indication of the period when this writing
was in use, since the majority of texts are difficult to date with any accuracy. It can
be estimated, however, that the usage of this writing corresponds with the peak of

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the Kaftari culture native to the Kor River basin in Fars, which is characterised by
distinctive ceramic assemblages, documented in Anshan/Tall-­e Malyan between 2100
and 1900, and exported as far as the Persian Gulf at this same date.
Was this king the instigator of this writing, urging his scholars to invent a new
system? In this case, would its appearance date to the end of the 22nd century? We
cannot confirm this with certainty. How could its diffusion from Dilmun on the west
coast of the Persian Gulf to Gonur in Margiana be explained? Its use on a Dilmun
stamp seal may indicate the opposite. Dilmun was located to the north of the Arabian
Peninsula where a Semitic language different from Akkadian was spoken. Its mer-
chants were very active in Iran and we can stipulate that one of them, trading on the
Iranian plateau, chose to write his name or his title using the writing of the country
where he conducted his activities; this clearly exceeds the narrow framework of a
courtly writing. There exist other examples of such seals, but with Harappan writing.
A second seal from Dilmun, with its characteristic reverse of a central boss with three
lines and four incised circles with dots, bears eight Harappan signs. Must it be con-
cluded that we are in the presence of a Harappan merchant established permanently
in the Gulf, or does the parallel with linear Elamite encourage the view that this was a
local merchant who adopted the writing of the Indus; the country in which he traded?
A stamp seal in steatite with a Harappan inscription, although discovered in Lothal,
was a characteristic product of Magan, today Oman: on the reverse can be noted the
presence of two dotted concentric circles typical of the production of workshops of
Magan, where it was the procedure to manufacture seals from recycled steatite vase
fragments; the inscription is a late addition achieved with a pointed metal tool, which
may well have been made in India (Glassner 2002: 362, 366–367).

The writing of the Indus

The urban Indus civilisation reached its apogee between 2500 and 1900 BCE. Writ-
ing appeared there during the second half of the 3rd millennium, although a precise
date cannot be established. It is known mostly by inscriptions on stamp seals, on
tablets, graffiti on pottery, on a single limestone and ten monumental gypsum graphs
inlaid in a wooden lintel (Kenoyer 1998; Possehl 2004: 70). It was in all likelihood a
mixed system of a corpus of several hundred signs (Parpola 2011: 162; Koskenniemi,
Parpola and Parpola 1979: xxii–xxvi; Koskenniemi and Parpola 1982: 20–21).

The great world commerce

Around 1900 the writing of the Indus disappeared with the collapse of this civili-
sation, in company with linear Elamite writing. Were their fates related? One could
suppose that Elamite writing had the same life as that of the Indus, that it pre-­dated
the reign of Puzur-­Inshushinak who used it in his own inscriptions and contributed
to its spread.
The vases in silver represent a large portion of the carriers of this writing. Daniel
T. Potts (2008: 165–194) shows convincingly that those discovered in Persepolis and
Gonur (only the first bears an inscription in linear writing) were of identical work-
manship (they share a frieze on the neck of the vase, a kind of evocation of moun-
tainous scenery) and the decoration of the second, two Bactrian camels, points to this

456
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region as the place of production; the text of the first could have been inscribed at a
later date.
It should be recalled that Puzur-­Inshushinak boasted of having received the submis-
sion of a king of Shimashki. Later Shū-­Sîn of Ur led an expedition against this country
and would underline in his account the silver and gold booty he brought back, and on
the reduction to servitude of prisoners who he made work in the silver mines he had
discovered in Zabshali, a province of Simashki. He stated that the country stretched
from the border of Anshan to the Caspian Sea (RIME 3/2, Šū-­Sîn E3/2.1.4.3).
The precious metal came, therefore, from Simashki, and it is in this kingdom that
the silver artifacts were manufactured. The presence of Bactrian camels hints at an
extension of Simashki up to Margiana. Piotr Steinkeller suggests that the king Yabrat
of Simashki could have brought camels from this country as diplomatic gifts to Shulgi
(Steinkeller 2009: 415–419, followed by Potts 2008: 190). As a parallel hypothesis,
the wars of Puzur-­Inshushinak, Ur-­Namma and Shū-­Sîn against Simashki would not
have had the trivial objective of conquering a neighbor but rather the taking of con-
trol of the silk route that ran along the southern shore of the Caspian Sea.

Language
Some bilingual inscriptions from Susa are probably only partially bilingual and thus
indirectly useful for the comprehension of the language written in linear writing.
Attempts to understand the language were made long ago by Walther Hinz and
Piero Meriggi, but without convincing the scientific community (Hinz 1969: 11–44;
Meriggi 1971: 184–224, Pls. I–IV). Their study, however, allows a number proposals
concerning the writing of the royal name to be made with relative certainty. Two
spellings of the name can be found:

X-ti-­r-­nap-­in-­šu-­ši-­na-­k
X-ti-­r-­nap-­in-­šu-­uš-­na-­k

Two different signs are used to write the final k, where we are in the presence of
an allograph. The first sign is formed by two semicircles facing each other; if the
hypothesis is true, it would read KU. The royal name would be an Elamite name,
Kutir-­Inshushinak, and not Kutik-­Inshushinak as is often proposed. The language of
linear writing would therefore, as expected, be Elamite.

The corpus
We do not know the total number of signs comprising this writing, the examples of
it being too few. These are official texts on architectural mediums and silver vessels,
sometimes accompanied by versions in Akkadian. These latter Akkadian versions
which mention the name of king Puzur-­Inshushinak are not perfectly bilingual. Other
texts appear more modestly on clay tablets, not made for display; they are composed
only of signs unattested elsewhere. Graphic variations perhaps attest to different geo-
graphical localities or times, or a writing that was not stabilised.
According to Jacob Dahl (2009), linear writing was not a true writing and, there-
fore, it will never be deciphered!

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THE ADOPTION OF M E S O P OTAM IAN

CUNEIF ORM W RITING
The times and places
From the Akkadian period (2300–2100 BCE), Mesopotamian cuneiform writing
was adopted in Elam to record the official language that would be imposed during
the Middle-­Elamite period (1500–1100), and it would remain in use until the Ach-
aemenid period. From this time, scholars were ambitious to record every expres-
sion of thought. During this long period, this writing evolved from a structure
based on nominal groups introduced by anaphoric pronouns to a structure oriented
towards the verb, with the gradual disappearance of the old nominal structure
(Grillot 2008).
In fact, only offices of the scribes from Susiana (Susa, Haft Tappeh, Abu Fandowa,
Tepe Sharafabad) and Anshan/Tall-­e Malyan, and later Persepolis, adopted cunei-
form writing. The oldest known document comes from Susa: the Old Babylonian
period copy of a treaty concluded between Naram-­Sin of Akkad and a king of Elam
(MDP 11 88; EKI 2). However, even if documents of all kinds gradually made their
appearance, literature was never put in writing, except in the form of citations in
royal inscriptions.5

Schools
It is impossible to imagine the presence of writing without the presence of schools.
Numerous school tablets were discovered at Susa and also in smaller quantities at
Haft Tappeh/Kabnak, Abu Fandowa (Herrero and Glassner 1996: 75–82) and per-
haps in Anshan/Tall-­e Malyan. Amongst these documents, it is true, only two seem
to have been written in Elamite. Besides the Malyan tablet, a source from Ur III Susa
is in Elamite (De Graef 2006: no. 82). The case of this city merits attention. The
presence of scholarly texts from the Old Akkadian period testifies to the transfer
of Mesopotamian culture. Rene Labat (1974: 4–7) has highlighted the particular
uses that scribes at the beginning of the Middle-­Babylonian/Middle-­Elamite period
(towards 1500) made of the Mesopotamian syllabary. He highlights some confusion
between the unvoiced and the voiced, including in the Babylonian language texts, as
indicated by the use of the sign DU in place of TU, to say erēbu, “to enter”; the Elam-
itophone scribes did not necessarily distinguish between the unvoiced and voiced. We
can equally think of the use of akkadograms to play homophony between Akkadian
words: for example, DAGAL to say rapaštu “shoulder” while the logogram refers to
the homonym rapaštu “large”. These examples are particular to the Susiana schools
in the wake of the Babylonian tradition and their singularities tend to show that
two schools, one Babylonian, one Elamite, did not exist in Elam, but that apprentice
scribes attended the same schools (D’Erme 1990: 80–81).

The question of bilingualism

From the outset up until the bilingual inscriptions of Untash-­Napirisha, the kings of
Elam expressed themselves in two languages, principally in Susiana. Undoubtedly, the

458
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two versions present variants, such as the use of logograms exclusively in the Akka-
dian versions, versus the use of syllabic writings privileged in the Elamite versions,
or certain specific phonetic values such as the Akkadian sign ù against the Elamite
ú. But in the Babylonian versions we also observe syntax errors, the use of fossilised
logograms such as DUMU.NI instead of DUMU, or the occurrence of elamisms. Con-
versely, in a Babylonian inscription on a brick fragment from Tall-­e Malyan, the
Elamite word siyan “temple” appears, complemented with the Babylonian accusative
ending -am. These are all traits that show the texts were works of bilingual Elamito-
phone scribes (Vallat 2008: 76; Labat 1970; Stolper 1982: 61).

The syllabary
Once these borrowings were complete, the Elamite syllabary was not content to be a
slavish copy of its model (Stève 1992). Its elaboration must have taken place between
the 18th and 15th centuries, and it was finalised by around 1400 with the kings of
Anshan and Susa. It is necessary to imagine that there had existed lexical lists that
served to compose these syllabaries, which are for the time being lost.
The borrowing had been made from a universe whose languages had only a dis-
tant relation with Elamite. As a result, the graphic signs do not necessarily correspond
to the phonemes or to the vocal articulations that must have constituted the Elamite
linguistic system. But this is not the objective of a writing. In any case, broken writ-
ings such as mi-­ul, attempted to render Elamite sounds. At a later period, we also find
phonetic complements of the type -iš to indicate that the sign TUK was to be read as
raš, or -ir to indicate that mar was to be read as mir and so on.
Over time, the system evolved:

• The form of the signs slowly mutated, notably towards their simplification, with
a marked predilection for the horizontal and vertical wedges at the expense of the
oblique; in the case of PA, the horizontal signs were placed after the vertical sign.
There can be noted a rapprochement with the Assyrian system from the 12th
century;
• The number of signs and syllabic values was more limited than in the Mesopota-
mian system (depending on the period, between 156 and 130 signs); homophony
and polyphony were restrained;
• The presence of logograms, initially minimised like the Old Babylonian corpus,
would be amplified; during the Achaemenid period their number would out-
weigh that of the syllabic signs;
• The use of akkadogrammes, like in Hittite, behind which are found Elamite
words; such as ZA-AL-MU “statue”, or A-NA-KU “tin”, sometimes followed
by the sign MEŠ to indicate the presence of a (pseudo-­)logogram (Stolper 1984a:
22–23).

Undoubtedly, the evolution of the syllabary was not linear but followed an uneven
rhythm; the later system was not the simplest. A Neo-­Babylonian tablet from Perse-
polis illustrates the differences between the Babylonian syllabary and the Elamite at
the time of Darius I (Stolper 1984b: 299–309).

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EPILOGUE: OLD PERS IAN W RITING

Everything, or almost everything, has been said about Old Persian writing since David
Diringer and Ignace J. Gelb (Gelb 1963; Diringer 1968; Cohen 1976; Mayrhofer
1979; D’Erme 1983; Lecoq 1974; Herrenschmidt 1990; Mancini 1984; 1992). Some
authors, like Ignace Gelb or Rüdiger Schmitt (2008: 76), consider it a courtly writing
created under the authority of the Achaemenid king. The discovery of an adminis-
trative tablet in Old Persian at Persepolis raises questions about the relevance of this
statement (Stolper and Tavernier 2007).
The corpus was composed only of 45 signs of simplified forms in comparison to
the Babylonian syllabary. Logograms excepted, no sign was composed of more than
five elements. It can be divided as follows:

• eight logograms;
• 36 signs which constituted an alpha-­syllabary, a corpus situated midway between
a syllabary and an alphabet: syllables provided with a vowel by default and signs
suppressing this vowel by default. They can be subdivided into four categories:
• three graphemes expressing the vowels a, i and u;
• 22 graphemes with a consonant value;
• seven allographs (alternative forms permitting the writing of the same sound)
of u;
• four allographs of i.
• a separator of words.

One perceives that the first 25 graphs of the alpha-­syllabary could have sufficed to
record the language. In addition, the system of allographs was incomplete; it per-
mitted distinguishing the syllables di and dai, but did not allow for the nominative
(tiš) and the genitive (taiš). The use of diphthongs was as imprecise as it was in
Elamite. Among the logograms, there were three to write the name of Ahuramazda,
and two for writing the word “country”. These inconsistencies resist any attempt at
explanation.
The Achaemenid corpus was an original system and the Akkadian syllabary could
not serve as its model. The only sign that might be borrowed is la, since the phoneme
1 does not exist in Old Persian language. There is only one obvious link between the
two systems: Old Persian was written in cuneiform.
Strangely, the Achaemenid scribes did not adopt the Aramaic alphabet – which they
nevertheless made significant use of – probably due to the prestige of the cuneiform.
The success of this alphabet had to wait until the Parthian and Sassanid eras, when
the Aramaic language gave way to the Middle-­Iranian languages. However, these
languages made an unexpected use of the Aramaic alphabet. Groups of consonants
forming Semitic words were considered logograms read in the Iranian language, such
as: MNŠ “out of”, a preposition, a borrowing from Aramaic MN augmented by
the Š, the Iranian word pronounced /hač/; AMY signifying “mother” and not “my
mother” (’m-­y) and read as /mād/; MLKAn “kings” with the plural ending n, and read
as /šāhān/. The adoption of the alphabet was never a simple affair!
Some evoke the hypothesis of a Mediterranean, Mycenaean or Cypriot origin for
the Achaemenid alpha-­syllabary, the allographs being the descendants, but this theory

460
 — Writing in Elam —

is fraught with insoluble problems, notably the dates. How could we forget here that,
in the most ancient Greek inscriptions, the vowel of a syllable could not be recorded
in writing if it had the same vocalic quality as that which in the oral alphabet allowed
the articulation of the consonant (Wachter 1991: 48–80)?
In short, there is no known model which inspired the inventors of Old Persian
writing. The place of the Elamite, however, seems to have been neglected. The Old
Persian b may be derived from the Akkadian ba through the intermediary of Elamite
forms; the Old Persian č from the Elamite sa; the Old Persian nu from a duplicated
Elamite /nu/.

AB B REVIATIO NS
EKI Inscriptions in König 1965.
MDP 11 Texts in Scheil 1911.
MDP 17 Texts in Scheil 1923.
MDP 26 Texts in Scheil 1935.
RIME 2/3 Inscriptions in Frayne 1997.

NOTE S
Translated from French by Javier Álvarez-Mon and Yasmina Wicks.
*
1 The corpus of signs was drawn up by J. Dahl and can be found on the CDLI site (http://cdli.
ucla.edu/).
2 In a completely intuitive manner, Dahl, Petrie & Potts (2013: 370) guess that the syllabary
developed over time to the detriment of logographic writing.
3 The only sure document is MDP 26 5224, which is of a Urukean type rather than

proto-­Elamite.
4 A convenient table has been compiled by Desset (2012: 92) which must be corrected: docu-
ment V is a seal of the Gulf and not of the Indus.
5 The Elamite version of Gilgamesh was revealed to be a private letter (Koch 1993: 219–236).

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Cohen, G. 1976. Origin of Persian Cuneiform. Comments on Etymology 6/5–6: 1–11.
Dahl, J.L. 2009. Early Writing in Iran, a Reappraisal. Iran 47: 23–31.
Dahl, J.L., Petrie, C.A. and Potts, D.T. 2013. Chronological Parameters of the Earliest Writing
System in Iran. In: Petrie, C.A. (ed.) Ancient Iran & Its Neighbours. Oxford: Oxbow Books,
353–378.
De Graef, K. 2006. De la dynastie Simaški au Sukkalmaḫat. Les documents fin PE IIB – début
PE III du chantier B à Suse, Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique en Iran 55. Gent:
Université de Gand.
D’Erme, G. 1983. Aspetti grafici e fonetici della scrittura antico-­persiana. Annali [dell’Istituto
Universitario Orientale] 43: 429–477.
———. 1990. Elamico e antico-­persiano: affinità stilistiche tra i due systemi scritorii. In: Gnoli,
Gh. and Panaino, A.C.D. (eds.) Proceedings of the First European Conference of Iranian
Studies, vol. 1. Rome, 69–83.
Desset, F. 2012. Premières écritures iraniennes. Les systèmes proto-­élamite et élamite linéaire,
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Diringer, D. 1968. The Alphabet (3rd edition). New York: Hutchinson and Co.
Englund, R.K. 2004. The state of decipherment of Proto-­Elamite. In: Houston, S.D. (ed.) The
First Writing. Script Invention as History and Process. Cambridge: University Press.
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v. Chr., Freiburger Altorientalische Studien 7. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
Glassner, J.-J. 1999. Dilmun et Magan: la place de l’écriture. In: Van Lerberghe, K. and Voet,
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———. 2002. Dilmun et Magan: le peuplement, l’organisation politique. La question des
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and Zarins, J. (eds.) Essays on the Late Prehistory of the Arabian Peninsula. Rome: Istituto
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———. 2003. The Invention of Cuneiform. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.
Grillot, F. 2008. L’Élamite. Éléments de grammaire. Paris: Geuthner.
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A. (eds.) Centre and Periphery. Proceedings of the Groningen 1986 Achaemenid History
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37–61.
Herrero, P. and Glassner, J.-J. 1996. Haft-­tépé: choix de textes IV. Iranica Antiqua 31: 75–82.
Hinz, W. 1969. Altiranische Funde und Forschungen. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.
Kenoyer, J.M. 1998. Ancient Cities of the Indus Valley Civilization. Oxford: Oxford University
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Koch, H. 1993. Elamisches Gilgameš-­Epos oder doch Verwaltungstäfelchen? Zeitschrift für
Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie 83: 219–236.
König, F.W. 1965. Die elamischen Königsinschriften, Archiv für Orientforschung, Beiheft 16.
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sinki: University of Helsinki.
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1. A concordance of the Indus Inscriptions, Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, Ser.
B, 185. Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia.
Labat, R. 1970. Élamismes dans la syntaxe babylonienne de textes susiens bilingues. Journal
Asiatique 258: 237–241.
———. 1974. Textes littéraires de Suse, Mémoires de la Délégation archéologique en Iran 67,
with the collaboration of D.O. Edzard. Paris: Librairie orientaliste Paul Geuthner.
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———. 1984b. The Neo-­Babylonian Text from the Persepolis Fortification. Journal of Near
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erische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 108–111.

ADDEND U M
The proto-Elamite sign m453 (Figure 22.1) is attested in linear Elamite script in an
unpublished artifact.

463
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ELAMITE ROYAL INSCRIPTIONS

Florence Malbran-­Labat*

LITERARY G E NRE
Royal inscriptions represent the literary genre through which the kings aimed at pro-
claiming and preserving eternal memory of their piety and achievements. Four main
types can be distinguished.
a. Standard inscriptions, the simple signature of the king on an object offered to a
deity; the royal name was sometimes followed by his titulary.1
b. Votive inscriptions (dedications), which, likewise, dedicate an object to a deity,
but are more developed in content. They generally include the name of the deity, the
name of the king who benefited from the gift, the donor’s name (if not the king), the
verb expressing the offering2 and, for longer texts, the circumstances, the motive of
the offering (in general “life”, i.e. eternal life) and sometimes a curse against those
who would attempt to damage it and/or an appeal for divine blessing.
c. Foundation inscriptions, which, unlike the two previous types, are not related to
a votive offering but are repeated identically on multiple exemplars (usually bricks)
to commemorate the (re)construction of a temple, a palace, and so on. Included in the
masonry of the building, they are not necessarily visible: they are primarily intended
to be read by the gods or subsequent kings. The basic pattern includes the name of the
king with titles and filiation, the object of the construction and the verb relating to
it,3 sometimes supplemented by the circumstances, the motivation of the builder and,
more rarely, by a curse. When it is related to a temple, the inscription opens mostly
with the name of the deity to whom the building is dedicated.
d. Triumphal inscriptions, far less numerous, are devoted to the religious or mili-
tary deeds achieved by the sovereign under the protection of his god.

P HYSICAL SU P P O RTS
The physical supports of the inscriptions are in relation to their different typologies
and vary according to their setting and historical period. Apart from the Neo-­Elamite
(such as that of Hanni at Izeh) and Achaemenid (at Bisotun, Mount Elvend, Naqsh-­e
Rostam, Van) rock reliefs, royal inscriptions are mainly on statues, vases and vessels,

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 — Elamite royal inscriptions —

and ceremonial weapons for standard and votive inscriptions, while bricks are the
support par excellence of foundation inscriptions. However, in the Achaemenid
period, they are also found on palace walls, column bases, gold or silver plaques,
stone or marble tables and more rarely on bricks.
The bricks4 show significant variations, both in the material and in the way they
were inscribed. First simply dried, then usually baked, they were made of clay soil
mixed with a usually vegetal temper, kneaded with water and then pressed and
shaped in a wooden mold. Before drying or baking, the text was inscribed by hand
or impressed with a stamp. During the 2nd millennium BC the quality of the clay
became more refined and formats became more regular; under the Shutrukids, sili-
ceous bricks appeared, some of which were covered, at least on one of the sides, with
a blue, green, yellow or brown glaze. In the Neo-­Elamite period, two different types
coexisted: the siliceous bricks as in the preceding period and large bricks in coarse
reddish and heavy clay.
There were at first large square (33–35 × 33–35 cm) or rectangular half-­square
bricks with quite variable size (especially in thickness). One can assume a certain
specificity according to their employ: thus, for example, bricks commemorating the
restoration of a wall are all significantly larger than those of the same period dedi-
cated to the rebuilding of the temple Ekikuanna. In the Middle Elamite period, quar-
ter bricks were added to these modules, and then, under the Shutrukids, bricks “in
parts of a circle” which belonged to columns. Other bricks, integrated in a bas-­relief,
show a bulge corresponding to the bodies of figures and, like the shaped bricks (“bri-
ques à ressaut”), attest the integration of inscribed bricks in the architecture of the
building.
The position of the inscription on the support is also varied: in ancient times, the
bricks in the name of Shulgi show the peculiarity of being framed on the upper or
lower surface (“bed face”) of the brick; the inscriptions of the other kings lie on the
side face, usually in vertical lines. This type developed under the SUKKAL.MAH and
became standard until Shilhak-­Inshushinak; innovatively, some bricks in the name of
Untash-­Napirisha bear an inscription that continues line by line on two consecutive
side faces. Shilhak-­Inshushinak returned to the old way of writing vertically on one
or even more side faces in the so-­called takkime (“(for) the Life”) inscriptions. There
are also square bricks stamped on five or six faces. On the bricks of Neo-­Elamite
sovereigns, the inscription, often stamped, is mostly on a side face.
In the Achaemenid period, bricks, attested in a much lower number, are squared,
glazed or unglazed, and join each other to form inscriptions mostly of standard type.

CHARACTE RIS TICS

In Elam, the literary genre of royal inscriptions occupies a very special place due to
several factors.

Incomplete knowledge
While the late Elamite royal inscriptions, originally employed for the decipherment of
cuneiform writings, come from various regions of Persia, our knowledge and under-
standing of this literary genre in earlier periods are distorted by the predominance

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of findings from the excavations conducted in Susiana, while the rest of the country
remains largely unexplored. It was not before the years 1960–1970 that archaeolog-
ical research was conducted in Fars, Kerman and Sistan, gradually expanding our
knowledge of the history of ancient Iran (see especially Boucharlat 1998 and McCall
2013). At present, the vast majority of royal inscriptions from pre-­Achaemenid Elam
comes from Susiana, a region particularly open to Mesopotamian influences.

The character of royal power and the political history of Elam

Two characteristics of royal power in Elam were retained in royal inscriptions. The
first is the profound duality of the state, formed by the “lowlands” of Susiana and the
“highlands” of the Zagros mountains. During periods of political weakness, Susiana
was often attached to its Mesopotamian neighbor, but whenever the Elamite kings
managed to unify the country, the mountainous component would impose indige-
nous traits. Here the principles of royal legitimacy differed. Father-­son lineage was
not the only mechanism of power transmission: the children of the brothers and also
of the sisters of the reigning king had rights. This multiplicity of heirs able to claim
the throne, which sometimes favored the breakup of the kingship, is the second char-
acteristic reflected in the royal inscriptions.
The earliest royal inscriptions of Elam are those of the kings of Akkad and Sumer,
who conquered Susiana at the end of the 3rd millennium. The Elamite power that
arose then in the Zagros and eventually became a powerful empire did not yet express
itself through this literary genre. It was only in the Middle Elamite period that the
kings who unified lowland and highland for nearly four centuries celebrated their
deeds as great builders with inscriptions, mainly in Susiana. At the end of the 2nd
millennium, when Elamite unity and power disappeared, a troubled period lacking
epigraphic evidence began. The political power was broken and the reigns, often
short, provided very few inscriptions. It was only with the Achaemenid dynasty that
this device of proclaiming royal grandeur was revived.

The multilingualism of inscriptions

During the two millennia in which royal inscriptions were written in Elam, they were
composed in several languages and in several writings.
The oldest inscriptions, in the name of Naram-­Sin, Shulgi and Shu-­Sin, are in
Akkadian and Sumerian. Elamite (written in Linear Elamite script) was used at this
time only by Puzur-­Inshushinak, the last king of the dynasty of Awan. Akkadian
remained the main language for the kings of Simashki, then for the “Grand Regents”
(SUKKAL.MAH) and in the 15th century for the Kidinuids.
It was in the middle of the 2nd millennium that Elamite, the vernacular language
(now written in cuneiform), was adopted by the Igihalkids and afterwards by the
Shutrukids. However, Untash-­Napirisha, while writing a very large number of foun-
dation inscriptions in Elamite, retained in a few cases the practice of bilingual texts
(but not bigraphic) with several lines in Elamite and the last ones in Akkadian; a few
rare bricks bear a text entirely in Akkadian. In the 1st millennium, the few extant
brick inscriptions are in Elamite with a couple of exceptions in Akkadian (IRS 55–56).
Finally, the Achaemenid kings generally practiced both trilingualism and trigraphism,

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the same text being written in Babylonian, Elamite and Old Persian, with each lan-
guage written in a different cuneiform script, to which a version in hieroglyphic Egyp-
tian was sometimes added.

The role of writing in Elamite culture

The role of writing, like that of building, was not the same in Elam as it was in Meso-
potamia, where the practice of royal inscriptions is a constant feature of the manifes-
tation of royal power. The king is the builder par excellence and his piety is asserted
by the construction of temples. In Elam the nature of royal power, exerted both over
(semi-­)nomadic and sedentary peoples whose religion was often practiced in out-
door natural spaces, modifies the importance of royal inscriptions, which appear as a
“westernizing” expression of royal ideology, and one could think that it was largely
due to the impact of their prestigious neighbors that they practiced this device of
communication to proclaim their devotion and power.

CONTE NTS
The Paleo-­Elamite period (ca. 2400–1450 BC)
Three groups of royal inscriptions can be chronologically singled out: first, at the end
of the 3rd millennium, the inscriptions of the rulers of Akkad and Sumer, then those
of Puzur-­Inshushinak, king of Awan and finally, in the first half of the 2nd millen-
nium, those of the rulers of Simashki, Atta-­hushu “shepherd of the people of Susa”
and the “Grand Regents” (SUKKAL.MAH).

The inscriptions of the kings of Akkad and Sumer

Apart from the impression of a seal (IRSA IIG1a) in the name of Epir-­mupi, “viceroy
of Elam”, the oldest royal inscriptions found in Susa are those of the conqueror kings
of the dynasty of Akkad (Manishtusu, Naram-­Sin) and afterwards Ur III (Shulgi,
Shu-­Sin), rulers of Susiana at that time.5 The inscriptions, in Akkadian for the first
dynasty, in Sumerian for the second, are few and usually short and of standard type.
The inscription of Naram-­Sin (IRS 1) is mutilated and bears only his name and tit-
ulary like the (complete) one of Shu-­Sin: “the beloved one of Enlil, the mighty king,
king of Ur and king of the four regions” (IRSA IIIA4a; IRS 3). Only those of Shulgi
make specific reference to Elam: one, classical in wording, attests construction activ-
ities in Susa, reporting that Shulgi “built a temple to Ninshushinak and restored it to
its (original) place” (IRS 2). Another inscription mentions a military campaign and a
civil construction: “Shulgi, the god of his country, the strong, the king of Ur, the king
of the four regions, when he ravaged the country of Kimash and Hurtum, he estab-
lished a moat and built (its) rampart” (IRSA IIIA2p).
Recent researches have brought to the attention of scholars the testimony of the
activities of another king, Amar-­Sin, at the ancient site of Huhnur: an inscribed
modeled stone recounting how he captured that city, bringing back a statue
of the god Ruhurater (Henkelman  2008:  304) and rebuilding his temple there
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2005).

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The inscriptions of Puzur-­Inshushinak6

In this ancient period, the case of Puzur-­Inshushinak, last king of the dynasty of Awan
(ca. 2100), is unique in the history of Elamite royal inscriptions. On the one hand,
while he dedicated many monuments to his gods on the Acropolis of Susa, no founda-
tion bricks in his name were found. On the other hand, in a program that was proba-
bly nationalist, he promoted, alongside cuneiform script for inscriptions in Akkadian,
a properly Elamite writing, probably derived from the Proto-­Elamite script (which,
from this point of view, could be called “Proto-­Linear”; see Desset, Chapter 20 in this
volume) used for accounting documents of the 3rd millennium.
We know approximately 20 inscriptions in Linear Elamite, including 19 excavated
at Susa (inscriptions A-P, R, and T-U), one at Shahdad in Kerman (inscription S) and
another in the region of Anshan (inscription Q on a silver beaker). This writing is not
completely deciphered, and we do not know the exact meaning of these texts. They
are mostly bilingual and bigraphic: an Akkadian cuneiform text appears next to the
Elamite text in linear script. The supports are varied: statues (inscriptions C, I = CRS
55), foundation stones (B = CRS 54, D), a table (A), a basin for ablutions (E), steps of
a staircase (F-H, U) and so on. Most objects were dedicated to Inshushinak and must
have come from his temple, but two door sockets and some foundation nails (J, K, L)
belonged to the temple of the god Shugu (IRSA IIG2a).
These inscriptions are spread throughout his reign since they bear either the
simple title “governor (ENSI) of Susa” or that of “governor of Susa, viceroy (GÌR.
NÍTA) of Elam”, while on some of the above-­mentioned steps he is “the mighty
king of Awan”. One of them, in Akkadian, following the Old Akkadian titulary,
refers to the domination of the “Four Regions”: “To (his) lord, Puzur-­Inshushinak,
mighty king of Awan, son of Shimbi-­ishuk, the year in which the god Inshushinak
looked at him (and) gave (him) the four regions to rule, he built a (stone) stair-
case”; it ends with a curse like several other inscriptions in Akkadian. It is in a very
unusually long dedication (IRSA IIG2f) that he states the regulation of religious
endowments: “To [Inshushi]nak, his [lord, Puzur-­Inshu]shinak, [the son of Shim]
pi-­[ish]uk, [the gover]nor [of Susa, vicer]oy [of the coun]try [of Elam, . . . when
he opened the canal Sidari, he erected his statue in front of him; and at his gate he
placed a (foundation) nail of copper and cedar. He established a ram for every day
in the morning (and) a ram in the evening, and he made the singers sing morning
(and) evening at the gate of Inshushinak, and he offered twenty (units) of pure oil
to embellish his gate. He offered. . . (various objects) . . . He conveyed a judgement
of justice in his city. Whoever will fail to comply to his judgment and whoever will
remove his gift, Inshushinak and Sin and Nin-­hursaga and Narundi? (and) all the
gods may up[root his] roots and take away his offspring! may he not be[get] an
he[ir]! [. . .]”.
Another unusual dedication (IRSA IIG2e) resembles a triumphal inscription and
evokes a series of victories and the submission of the king of Simashki: “[Puzur-­
Inshushinak, (.  .  . titulary), when Kimash and the country of Hurtum rebelled
against him, he went to capture his enemies, and defeated Hubsana  .  .  .  (Sev-
enty place names follow). Then, he subjugated (these cities) and when the king
of Simashki came, he seized the feet of Puzur-­Inshushinak; Inshushinak heard his
prayers and [. . .]”.

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The inscriptions of the first half of the 2nd millennium

Puzur-­Inshushinak’s innovations had no future, and linear writing disappeared com-
pletely. The literary genre of royal inscriptions entered into a less productive period
in Elam.
In Elamite, only one inscription (EKI 3A+B) is attested for this period: it is
written on behalf of the prince Siwe-­Palar-­hupak (mid-­18th century) on two frag-
mentary tablets found in Susa; its structure is similar to that of Temti-­Agun (see
below) in titulary (ligawe riša[kki] “Great One7 of the kingdom”, menik Hatamtik
“prince of Elam”), filiation (ruhu-­šak “son-­of-­the-­sister of Sirukduh”), and moti-
vation (“for my life, for that of Amma-­hashtuk, for her family and her descen-
dants”). Then he reports the sacrifices by which he implores Inshushinak to grant
him everlasting prosperity. Finally he proclaims to have established his cult for the
peoples of Anshan and Susa and ends by vowing fire for his enemies and impale-
ment for their allies.
The kings of the highland belonging to the dynasty of Simashki,8 who preceded
Siwe-­palar-­hupak, practiced, as far as we know, only very sporadically this device of
celebrating their religious and political power: the few inscriptions that have reached
us, brief and not very original, are written in Akkadian (but often in a largely ideo-
graphic writing).9 On construction bricks, Tan-­Ruhuratir and Idadu, given as 9th and
10th kings in the dynastic list, bear only the title of “governor of Susa”. The only
known inscription of the first (IRS 4) is related to the construction of the temple of
Inanna.10 In contrast, the inscribed bricks of Idadu are more copious and varied: one
of them is brief and commemorates the establishment of the Acropolis rampart and
another the renovation of the temple of Inshushinak; even if based on an old struc-
ture, it is not without a certain originality because it is attested in two versions with
the same content, one in Sumerian, the other in Akkadian.11 Finally, on two bricks too
mutilated to understand the context, he was styled as “king of Simashki and Elam”
(IRS 9).
At the end of the 20th century, Atta-­hushu’s seizure of power marked the end of
the Simashkian dynasty and a political emancipation of Susiana.12 This king adopted
the title of “shepherd of the god Inshushinak” (SIPA dMÙŠ.EREN) or “shepherd
of the people of Susa” (SIPA ÉREN MÙŠ.EREN), stating his devotion to this god,
who was properly Susian, and proclaiming to be his “beloved servant” (ÌR KI.AG).
The diversity of his dedications reflects an intense activity, both civil and religious:
they celebrate the construction of a causeway (titūram) (IRS 10), of a temple “beloved
residence (of the god)” (É.KI.ÁG.A.NI) (IRS 13), the restoration of “the ancient
shrine” (kizzum labiram) “for his life” (IRS 11) and, exceptionally, the erection of a
stele of justice (ALAM kittum) in the market (IRS 12).
As regards filiation, while the rulers of Awan and Simashki made reference to a
direct descent (DUMU PN “son of PN”), another type of family relationship appeared
with Atta-­hushu and was reused by Siwe-­palar-­hupak (in Elamite: ruhu-­šak) and by
the SUKKAL.MAH, then occasionally in the Middle Elamite period: “son/heir-­(by/
of-­)the-­sister” (DUMU NIN9). The interpretation of this term is disputed: “nephew”
(legitimacy would be inherited by the sister of the preceding king or of an ancestor
considered the founder of the dynastic line) or “son-­of-­the-­sister (wife)” (legitimacy
would be doubly assured by a father and a mother of the same blood).

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Atta-­hushu represented a transition13 before the empire of the “Grand Regents”

(SUKKAL.MAH). Only four of them, in the present state of our knowledge, pro-
duced brick inscriptions.14 Temti-­agun differs from his successors by his strictly local
title (“regent of Susa”)15 and his filiation: he refers not to Silhaha but to Sirukduh
(DUMU NIN9-šu ša Sirukduh16). His inscription for the construction of the temple of
the goddess Ishmekarab (IRSA IVO8a = IRS 14) provides a hitherto unprecedented
development regarding the motivation “for the life”.
Much more traditional in composition, most building inscriptions of Temti-­halki,
Kuk-­Nashur and Kuk-­Kirwash begin with an invocation to the god Inshushinak.
Then, after the titulary and the filiation, the building activity dedicated to Inshushi-
nak by the king “for his life” follows: a temple in baked bricks (siyanam ša epirtim)
for Temti-­halki (IRSA IV09b = IRS 16), the Upper Temple of the Acropolis in baked
bricks (kukunnam ša SIG4 AL.LU.RA ša URU.AN.NA) for Kuk-­Nashur (IRS 17),
the Ekikuanna renovated with a new wall in baked bricks for Kuk-­Kirwash (IRSA
IVO11a = IRS 18).

The Middle Elamite period (ca. 1450–1050 BC)

This quite homogeneous tradition of royal inscriptions experienced a revolution with
the seizure of power by new dynasties, the Kidinuids, Igihalkids and Shutrukids, of
which at least the last two exercised strong control in Elam.

The dynasty of the Kidinuids

In the middle of the 2nd millennium, in a period of turmoil, the Kidinuids took power
temporarily at Susa and Kabnak (Haft Tappeh). Continuing to write in Akkadian,
two descendants of Kidinu,17 without indicating their filiation, call themselves “king
of Susa”. Inshushinak-­shar-­ili18 mentions in a classical way the reconstruction of the
temple of Inshushinak, introducing the address to his successors to ensure the eternity
of his work (IRS 1919). The inscription of Tepti-­ahar (IRS 20) is unparalleled: it men-
tions the manufacture of “his statue and (those) of his maid-­servants whom he loves
and of favorable deities who intercede for him and his maid-­servants whom he loves”
as well as a nocturnal ceremony that remains very mysterious: “At nightfall, four
women of the temple guards . . . must lie at the feet of the protective and intercessory
deities; they must light torches? and keep watch. The hašša, the kiparu, the pāšišu
high priest, the guards of the temple, and the temple priest must seal the temple after
them. At daybreak, after they have checked (the statues) of the king, the protective
and intercessory deities, they can exit and go (away)”.
Probably at about the same time another sovereign, Igi-­hatet, produced a building
inscription (Daneshmand and Abdoli 2015) in Akkadian found at Dehno  for the
glory of the goddess Manzat, who gave him the kingship over Susa and Anshan and
for whom he restored the ancient kukunnû.
After this period when the power of the SUKKAL.MAH was probably fragmented
into many small temporary rival kingdoms, the powerful dynasty of the Igihalkids
would impose itself over a unified Elam, giving a new dynamism to the royal inscrip-
tions, for which they imposed the use, with a few exceptions, of their vernacular
language, Elamite.

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 — Elamite royal inscriptions —

The dynasty of the Igihalkids (14th century)

The brick inscription of Humbanumena “king of Anshan and Susa” (IRS 21), written
in Elamite, has a very new structure and formulation, probably due to the origin of
his power in Fars and the novelty of his kingship at Susa.20 It is composed of an invo-
cation to the gods of Liyan, a specific titulary which is properly Elamite, the mention
of the establishment of his kingship, the refoundation of a temple for “the life” of
members of the dynasty and the prosperity of his kingship: “O Napirisha, Kiririsha
and the (gods) Protectors of the Earth, (gods) of Liyan, I, Humbanumena, son of
Attar-­kitah, I (am) the Great One of the kingdom, the Elamite (i.e. of the Elamite
country) master, the holder of the Elamite throne, the Elamite sovereign, the king of
Anshan and Susa; because of the continuity with (my) mother, Napirisha chose me
and loved me: (once) prosperity (was) established?, the crown restored?, Inshushinak
gave me the kingship. For my life, for the life of Mishimruh and the life of Rishap-­La,
for this (reason), the temple being once in ruins?, I re-­established the kukunnum in its
place and dedicated it to Napirisha, Kiririsha, and the (gods) Protectors of the Earth.
May Napirisha, Kiririsha, and the (gods) Protectors of the Earth give me a long life,
may they grant me a continually prosperous kingship”.
Untash-­Napirisha, his son and successor, multiplied the dedications linked to his
intense religious activities and the establishment of the “holy city” of Dur-­Untash, the
shrine (siyan-­kuk) where he intended to proclaim his ecumenical will, dedicating tem-
ples or chapels to all the gods of the lowland and highland. In contrast, no inscription
recounts his military exploits in the war against Babylon. Most of his foundation
inscriptions are in Elamite,21 and their structure remains traditional: name, filiation
and titulary, designation of the temple22 and verb of construction.23 Further actions
are sometimes added to the verb “to build”: “I  have placed my name”, “I  have
installed (a) DN in gold”, or, at Chogha Zanbil, “I carved a DN in gold, I installed
him as (god) of a temple of the shrine”, “(I built) a basement? of 10 cubits”, “I raised
a ziggurat”. The reason behind the construction, which is usually the king’s happiness
and the prosperity of his kingdom,24 its purpose or its consequences25 are often men-
tioned. Many inscriptions explicitly include a dedication to the god (“. . . I dedicated
to DN”) and/or a final plea for divine blessing.26
Some bricks of the kukunnû, the Upper Temple at the summit of the ziggurat, bear
a bilingual inscription (MDP 41 32): the main body of the text is in Elamite, but the
final curse is in Akkadian.27 This inscription recapitulates all the work undertaken at
Dur-­Untash: the choice of the site, the foundation of the city, the surrounding walls
and the sanctuaries, and the building of the gates. The final curse invokes the anger
of the gods against possible defilers: “Whoever would throw projectiles against the
surrounding walls of this sanctuary, whoever would open a breach, whoever would
carry away bricks, whoever would burn the door, and the enemy who would show
up (here) and launch an attack against the surrounding walls, may the anger of the
gods Napirisha, Inshushinak, and Kiririsha of the shrine be upon him (and) may his
offspring not flourish under the sun!”.
Two types of building bricks bear an entirely Akkadian text (IRS 32).28 One,
pertaining to the building that stood atop the ziggurat, is unusual in composition:
the name of Untash-­Napirisha is followed neither by his filiation nor his titulary;
it is the refinement and color of the masonry that are celebrated here; a particular

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development is assigned to the final curse: “. . . whoever will tear down, whoever will
destroy its brickwork, whoever will take or carry away to another county its gold, its
silver, its obsidian, its alabaster, and its masonry, may the anger of Napirisha, Inshush-
inak, and Kiririsha of the sanctuary be upon him and may his offspring not flourish
under the sun!”. The second type commemorates “technical” achievements: two texts
(MDP 41 IV-V) differ only by the object of the construction, in one case a canal, in the
other the decantation basin to which the canal led. This inscription is unique in plac-
ing the wishes of happiness for the prince and of prosperity for the kingdom immedi-
ately after his titulary: “I, ( . . . titulary), for my life and my well-­being lasting many
days, long years, (so that) I may exercise a happy kingship, I built a canal ‘Glory of
My Name’. I dedicated it to Napirisha and Inshushinak of the shrine. The work that
I have carried on, (o) Napirisha and Inshushinak of the shrine, may you accept it”.
No building inscriptions of the two successors of Untash-­Napirisha are known
to us, probably suggesting a weakening of the Igihalkids. Then the coming of a new
man, Shutruk-­Nahhunte, marks the takeover of a new dynasty.

The dynasty of the Shutrukids

Most of the brick inscriptions of the Shutrukids perpetuate the previous structure,
but with a renewal in expression.29 Moreover, the difficulty of defining the royal
legitimacy at the heart of this complex family gave rise to a new type of text which
assigned a prominent role to wishes for the life of the members of the royal family.
These kings generally used the title “king of Anshan and Susa”, but sometimes also
“Great One of the kingdom” (e.g. Shilhak-­Inshushinak IRS 47 and 49; Hutelutush-­
Inshushinak IRS 51) or “(king) whose kingdom the god Inshushinak loves” (IRS 48).
As for Kutir-­Nahhunte, in two of his inscriptions he adopts only a religious title:
“beloved servant of Inshushinak” (IRS 35–36).
New temple designations appear in these building bricks: pillared hall (hiyan),
exterior chapel (kumpum kiduya, probably dedicated to the cult of the royal family;
IRS 35 and 40), temple of the grove (siyan husame), dynastic chapel (or altar) (suhter)
and so on.
Certain texts are related to inscriptions of triumphal type, for example, when
Shutruk-­Nahhunte proclaims to have brought to Elam the glorious stela of Naram-­
Sin (EKI 22) or when Shilhak-­Inshushinak lists a large number of cities over which
Inshushinak allowed him to extend his power (EKI 54).
Among these inscriptions, some are atypical: Shutruk-­Nahhunte commemorates
the reconstruction of the temple of Manzat at Dehno (MDP 53 9) without men-
tioning either his titulary or his filiation but noting the fact that he is adhering to an
old tradition30: he mentions the name of his predecessors and shows concern for the
safeguarding of his work in the future. Shilhak-­Inshushinak, in his turn, recalls the
particular circumstances in which he built the dynastic chapel (IRS 41): his brother
Kutir-­Nahhunte died before manufacturing the representations of figures in baked
bricks; Shilhak-­Inshushinak, once enthroned, made them and used them to build the
dynastic chapel.
The most innovative inscriptions are the takkime ones. They do not involve ded-
ications to the god or wishes that the offering will be appreciated. The essential ele-
ment is the motivation for which the work was done: the life of the royal family. Thus

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the royal line is defined,31 both by the evocation of his predecessors (his “ascendants”
in kingship, whom he asks for intercession in the netherworld)32 and the definition of
his descendants. The manner in which the members of the ruling family are reported
is not fixed and would change as Shilhak-­Inshushinak established his legitimacy
within the dynasty after his marriage with Nahhunte-­Utu, who already had children,
previously the only legitimate heirs of royal power. He tried to anchor his royal
power by attaching himself to more or less distant predecessors and, when he had
children himself, inflecting the definition of dynastic lineage. In the wishes for “life”,
sometimes he refers to the descendants through a globalizing expression that evolved
over time: “her descent” (of Nahhunte-­Utu), “the children that I begot and (those) of
Nahhunte-­Utu, they (who are) the posterity to whom we have passed (it)” (IRS 48A),
“our posterity” (IRS 49) or “my descent and the life of my posterity, those to whom
I have passed (it)” (IRS 44). When the names are enumerated, the list comprises either
seven or nine names; they are listed in chronological order or by naming first the
sons and then the daughters. In the longest list, the youngest daughter is qualified as
“beloved daughter”, which can express a special predilection: “Bar-­Uli, my beloved
daughter, who represents my salvation” (IRS 47 and 48B).33
It is without doubt the complexity of this dynastic succession which explains the
curious filiation provided by his successor Hutelutush-­Inshushinak: “beloved son
of Kutir-­Nahhunte and Shilhak-­Inshushinak” (IRS 51) or “beloved son of Shutruk-­
Nahhunte, Kutir-­Nahhunte, and Shilhak-­Inshushinak, beloved brother of Ishnikarab-­
huhun34” (IRS 52). As regards “the life”, he refers to that of his brothers and sisters,
nephews and nieces, and of his House (IRS 51), or only to that of his brothers and
sisters (IRS 52) while elsewhere (IRS 53) he says only to have laboured “for my
life” and concludes with a curse that attaches his name to that of the founder of the
ancient dynasty of the SUKKAL.MAH: “the destroyer who would steal them, the
looter who would hammer the protocol that is placed (here) instead of preserving it,
may Inshushinak trample with his feet?, may the curse of Hutelutush-­Inshushinak and
Shilhaha be inflicted upon him”.
Even if some inscriptions attest Hutelutush-Inshushinak’s activities also outside of
Susa, at Shalukki (EKI 64) and Anshan (Lambert 1972), his reign was disturbed by
the campaigns of Nebuchadnezzar, which forced him to take refuge in the highland
at least temporarily. Elam then entered a dark period, which is not documented by
any royal inscription.

The Neo-­Elamite period (ca. 1050–539 BC)

The Neo-­Elamite II period (ca. 750–653) saw a revival of the “kings of Anshan and
Susa”, but the royal inscriptions perpetuate only the names of Shutruk-­Nahhunte II,
his brother and successor Hallutush-­Inshushinak, and in the Neo-­Elamite III period
(ca. 653–539), Tepti-­Huban-­Inshushinak.35 It seems that in this period, royal power
flourished in the eastern parts of the kingdom where the Elamite princes preserved
their cult, as attested by the rock reliefs of Kul-­e Farah, Kurangun and Naqsh-­e
Rostam.
The brick inscriptions of Shutruk-­Nahhunte II are of four types: two in Akka-
dian36 and two in Elamite. One (IRS 57) is inscribed in a frame on the upper or
lower surface and celebrates the establishment of a kukunnum of Inshushinak in the

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recently conquered Karintash (“O Inshushinak, my god, you have made me strong,
here I  have made your name prosper”), while referring to the kings Hutelutush-­
Inshushinak, Shilhana-­hamru-­Lagamar and Hubanimmena; the inscription ends with
a curse: “Whoever would neglect? what belongs to me, may he lose the blessing of
Inshushinak and be excluded from the light of Inshushinak!”. The sole inscription of
his successor Hallutush-­Inshushinak (IRS 58) proclaims that he has “expanded the
kingdom of Anshan and Susa” and, after a brief mention of the restoration of the
temple of Inshushinak, it is closed by a dedication to the god and wishes that the god
would bestow upon him a fair lot in accordance with his piety and not the painful
fate of the impious.
Three inscriptions of Tepti-­Huban-­Inshushinak, in Elamite, are of standard type
(IRS 59–61), with the name and filiation of the king, the building activity (IRS 60)
and the dedication to Inshushinak (IRS 61). Another inscription (IRS 62) is atypical,
being related to triumphal inscriptions and alluding to a successful campaign: “. . .
I have broken off the country of the Wicked Ones and have enlarged Elam; I have
broken off the country of the Enemies and I have received their tribute . . .”.

The Achaemenid period (539–331 BC)

The Achaemenid period saw a revival of royal inscriptions.37 They are generally char-
acterized by multilingualism: most are in the three “official” languages of the empire,
even if some are only in Old Persian (DPd, DPe),38 Elamite (DPf, DSu), or Babylonian
(CB, DPg, DSaa, XSb, XSe, A1Pb, D2Sb); others couple two of these languages: Old
Persian and Elamite (DSd, DSi, XPi, XPk), Old Persian and Babylonian (DSg, DSo,
DSw, XPf, A1Pa). The inscriptions made in Egypt (DZ, DSab) add a fourth language
(in hieroglyphic).39
Thus the inscriptions of the Achaemenids favor the languages written in cunei-
form without resorting to Aramaic, the language of administration and diplomatic
correspondence: the inscription of Bisotun, through which Darius proclaimed his
legitimacy, was engraved on the rock in Elamite, Old Persian and Babylonian several
meters above the ground. It was not readable by a passer-­by from below but was
released in Aramaic so as to be proclaimed throughout the empire (Lecoq 1997: 56).
Multilingual inscriptions generally repeat the same text, but the Babylonian ver-
sions may present significant variants in accordance with the tradition of the Mesopo-
tamian scribes, for example, assessing accurately the number of casualties, wounded
and prisoners taken in the fighting, dating the events, or using a Median form for
Iranian proper names (Lecoq 1997: 54–55). In Persepolis, four inscriptions (DPd,
DPe, DPf, DPg) were engraved side by side to commemorate, each one in its own way,
the construction of the monumental complex. Two are in Old Persian, one imploring
the protection of Ahuramazda for the Persian people, the other asserting their superi-
ority over the various subject peoples and exhorting the reader to protect the Persian
army. The Elamite text relates the construction of the terrace, and the Babylonian one
reported the multiple peoples who worked there.
The structure of the inscriptions of the Achaemenid kings differ from those of their
predecessors in Elam. Titulary and filiation resort to new formulae; the title can be
simple (“the king”) or more developed: “the great king, the king of kings, the Persian
king”, “the great king, the king of kings, (the Persian king/the king in Persia,) the king

474
 — Elamite royal inscriptions —

of peoples”, “the great king, the king of kings, the king of peoples/countries, the king
on this (great) earth”, “the great king, the king of kings, the king of peoples having
many origins, the king on this great earth even far away”. The filiation is limited to
the father’s name and the belonging to the Achaemenid family, or recalls the mem-
bership to the Persian people and the Aryan world: for example, “Darius. . ., the son
of Hystaspes, the Achaemenid, Persian, son of a Persian, Aryan, of Aryan descent”.
A cosmology can precede the titulary-­filiation: “Ahuramazda is the great god, who
created this earth here, who created the heaven up there, who created man, who cre-
ated happiness for man, who made Darius king. . . ”, “Ahuramazda is the great god,
who created the beauty that one sees, who created happiness for man, who bestowed
wisdom and bravery upon king Darius” (DNb).
In reference to kingship, its extent and its excellence, the formula also knows vari-
ants: it mentions only the Persian people (e.g. “this Persian people that I  possess,
having good horses, good men – the great god Ahuramazda granted it to me, thanks
to Ahuramazda I am king of this people” (AmH), or more generally: “here is the king-
dom which I hold, from the Scythians who are beyond Sogdiana to Ethiopia, from
India to Lydia, the one that Ahuramazda, the greatest of the gods, bestowed upon
me” (DH), sometimes listing the peoples “who brought a tribute, who obeyed him,
and whom his law upheld” (DNa, DPe, DSm).
The inscriptions often include a praise of the deeds and virtues of the sovereign:
“The king Darius says: “thanks to Ahuramazda, I am such that I am friend of right,
I am not friend of injustice; my desire is not that the weak suffer injustice because
of the strong; my desire is not that the strong suffer injustice because of the weak””
(DNb and XPl), “I am a good rider, I am a good archer both on foot and horseback,
I am a good spearman both on foot and horseback” (DNb). These are the qualities
that Ahuramazda bestowed upon him (see XPl).
Another frequent element of the royal proclamation concerns the construction40
on which it is written: “And Darius the king says: ‘on this terrace, where this palace
was built, no palace had been built; thanks to Ahuramazda, I built this palace and
Ahuramazda wanted so, with all the gods, that this palace was built; and I built it;
thus it was built solid and excellent and exactly as I had ordered’”(DPf). It could also
be related to a technical achievement like the digging of a canal “from a river named
Nile, that flows in Egypt, towards the sea that comes from Persia; so, this canal was
dug as I had ordered, and the ships went from Egypt through this canal to Persia,
according to my good pleasure” (DZc).
The antiquity of the restored building is mentioned with regards to Susa: “the king
Darius says: ‘thanks to Ahuramazda, there were many buildings that previously were
not in good shape; at Susa, I saw that the surrounding wall was in ruins; therefore,
I built there another wall’”. Some texts (DSf and DSz) are peculiar because they pro-
vide construction details: “this palace that I made in Susa – its materials were brought
from far away; downward, the earth was dug until I reached the stone in the earth;
when it was dug, gravel was thrown on one side to 40 cubits in depth, on the other
to 20 cubits in depth; on this gravel, the palace was laid . . . ”, then the cedar wood
brought from Lebanon, the gold from Lydia and Bactria, the stone columns from
Elam as well as the ethnicities of those who worked them are mentioned.
At the end of the inscriptions, a more or less developed plea for divine bless-
ing appears: “May Ahuramazda protect me as well as my house” (DH), “may

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Ahuramazda protect me as well as my house and this people from evil, this is what
I ask Ahuramazda; may Ahuramazda give me this” (DNa), “May Ahuramazda bring
me his help, together with all the gods, and may Ahuramazda protect this people
from the (enemy) army, famine, and falsehood; may not the (enemy) army, famine,
and falsehood reach this people; this is what I ask as a favor to Ahuramazda, together
with all the gods; may Ahuramazda together with all the gods give me this as a favor”
(DPd). A general plea for good conduct can also be inserted in the text: “O man! may
not the command of Ahuramazda seem bad to you! Do not turn away from the right
path! Do not revolt!” (DNa, DNb).
Among the Achaemenid royal inscriptions, some occupy a special place in their
own right. Darius made a trilingual inscription to be engraved on a rock relief dom-
inated by the representation of Ahuramazda. This is primarily a political and con-
troversial manifesto intended to proclaim his legitimacy. At the beginning, after his
genealogy, he stated his double legitimacy: by descent and by divine election; then
he lists the 23 subject peoples over which he exercises his just kingship, blessed by
Ahuramazda. The narrative of each of the nine successive revolts that broke out in
various parts of the empire in the first year of his reign is the core of the inscription.
It is closed, after a brief summary, by the address to every just king to carefully avoid
falsehood and by the injunction to spread this proclamation.
The assertion of royal legitimacy is also the subject of the so-­called “Harem”
inscription (XPf), where Xerxes proclaims the choice made by his father to appoint
him as successor, likely at the expense of his brothers, and praises the way he has
excellently continued his father’s work. In the so-­called “Daiva” inscription (XPh),
he exalts his pious conduct and the need to worship Ahuramazda: after an ordinary
introduction (cosmogony and list of peoples of the Persian empire), the inscription
reports the repression of a people which is not named specifically, but which wor-
shiped evil demonic gods (the daiva), and ends mentioning the happiness, in his life-
time and after his death, of the one who worships Ahuramazda “at the prescribed
time and according to the rite”.
Finally the cylinder of Babylon celebrates the decision of Cyrus II to restore the
local cults and proclaims his legitimacy in Babylonia; written in Babylonian, it is in
fact the work of the clergy of Marduk in reaction to the religious policy established by
Nabonidus. The first section describes the impiety of the king of Babylon who neglected
the worship of Marduk and abused the population, causing the angry god to choose
a prince having “pious deeds and right heart” in order to give him kingship over the
entire world. In the second section, Cyrus, after providing his titulary and filiation,
relates how the kings of all the parts of the world brought him tribute, how he restored
the cults in their right place, and rebuilt the great surrounding wall of Babylon.
Thus, for nearly two millennia, Elamite royal inscriptions, despite the often tradi-
tional structure of this literary genre, reflected through their ruptures, their innova-
tions and their erratic elements, the crises and the embodiments of kingship in Elam,
both in its political and religious aspects.

AB B REVIATIO NS
CRS Items in the exhibition catalogue Harper et al. 1994.
EKI Royal inscriptions in Elamite in König 1965.

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 — Elamite royal inscriptions —

IRS Brick inscriptions in Elamite and Akkadian from Susa (and Chogha Zan-
bil) in Malbran-­Labat 1995.
IRSA Royal inscriptions in Sollberger and Kupper 1971.
MDP 41 Inscriptions from Chogha Zanbil in Steve 1967.
MDP 53 Royal inscriptions from Susa and Susiana in Steve 1987.

NOTE S
* Translated from French by Gian Pietro Basello.
1 One can include in this type also inscriptions on seals.
2 For example, “Maništusu, king of Kiš: Ešpum, his servant, dedicated (this statue) to the
goddess Narundi” (IRSA IIA3d).
3 For example, “Indattu, the governor of Susa, the beloved one of the god Nin-­Shušinak, the
son of Tan-­Ruhuratir, built the rampart of the Acropolis” (IRSA IV03b).
4 They are designated using words couched in terminology that is Mesopotamian (libittu/SIG4
“brick”, epirtu/SIG4.AL.LU.RA, erimtu “baked brick”) or Elamite (halat “brick of unbaked
clay”, upat “baked brick”, sometimes qualified as upat hussip “colored brick?”, upat aktiya
“glazed sandstone brick” [“brique de grès émaillé” in French], upat mušiya “glazed brick”
[“brique vernissée”], sometimes also lansitimma “gold-­plated” or lanini “silver-­plated”).
5 These inscriptions may also be those made by notables on behalf of their king (see e.g.
IRSA IIA3d, IRSA IIIA3i). Some objects bear dedications, for example, a cast bronze ham-
mer with shaft-­hole (CRS 56) on behalf of Shulgi.
6 André and Salvini 1989.
7 See Anthonioz and Malbran-­Labat 2013. The usual translation is “enlarger” (“agrandis-
seur” in French).
8 Not properly a dynasty, but princes of an “interregional” state, grouping several geo-­
political entities.
9 Standard inscriptions on seals (IRSA IV03c, IV04a and b, IV06j) and small vases (IRSA
IV06f), etc., in Akkadian or Sumerian are also known.
10 This is also the goddess whom Mekubi, his wife, invoked in a fragmentary inscription (IRS
5).
11 “To Inšušinak, his lord, for (his) life, Idadu, the governor of Susa, the beloved servant of
Inšušinak, the son of Tan-­Ruhuratir, did not refurbish the ancient wall in bitumen (but)
built a new wall in baked bricks at the back of the Ekikuanna; he had (it) built for his life”
(IRSA IVO3a = IRS 6–7).
12 His name appears also on bronze objects from Luristan but with a slightly different title
(“the one who holds the reins of the Susian people”).
13 An inscription without comparisons in its typology (IRSA IV06a), on a clay cylinder
(which is a rare support), is variously interpreted but clearly refers to a tripartite power
between Ebarti, Silhaha and Atta-­hušu “regent and scribe (tepir) of the people of Susa”.
14 Furthermore, the name of Simut-­wartaš, son of Sirukduh, appeared in a brief inscription
on an alabaster base found at Liyan (Potts 2016: 168, Pl. 6.4, and 169, Figure 6.1).
15 Even if on a brick fragment (MDP 53 1) from Chogha Pahn West he is SUKKAL.MAH
SUK[KAL . . . šu]šim.
16 Sirukduh was himself DUMU NIN9 of Silhaha.
17 A seal bears the name of its founder, Kidinu “king of Susa and Anshan”.
18 This name appears also on a cylinder seal from Haft Tappeh (HT 567).
19 Appearance of the logogram EŠŠANA for “king”.
20 Two dedications on statues are in Akkadian (MDP 53 3–4).
21 The inscription on the statue of his wife Napir-­asu (CRS 83) is also in Elamite (EKI 16).

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 — F l o r e n c e M a l b r a n - ­L a b a t —

22 The designation of the temple is varied, whether it specifies its innovative character
(“. . . (the temple of Upurkubak) that the kings, my predecessors, had not built in Susa
.  .  .”), the material (cf. IRS pp. 152–154), the place (“on the Acropolis”). The name is
sometimes provided (aštam dedicated to Pinigir, ain kuten “House of Justice”, kukunnum
“Upper Temple”, nūr kibrat “(tower-­temple) Light of the World”, sir halte, ipillati). In
Dur-­Untaš other terms are attested: siyan hunin, siyan kinin, siyan silin, siyan limin, siyan
likrin.
23 For example, IRS 23: “I, Untaš-­Napiriša, son of Humbanumena, the king of Anshan and
Susa, I built the temple of DN”.
24 “.  .  . so that, (prince) always satisfied throughout the years, I  may have a continually
prosperous kingship” (IRS 27), “. . . eager (that) my life (may be) continually prosperous,
so that the extinction of my lineage, (when it will be) judged?, may not be inflicted to me”
(IRS 28) or, with another combination of the elements: “. . . eager (that) my life (may be)
continually prosperous, (prince) always satisfied throughout the years” (IRS 29).
25 “. . . (I built a temple) to the god DN who answers my prayer for me when I pray and
fulfills (it) when I utter a word . . .” (IRS 30), “the sanctuary having been provided? with
ritual offerings?, (the god) blessed the shrine” (IRS 26).
26 “. . . may the work that I did be accepted by DN as an offering from me” (IRS 25), “. . .
may I perform the divine service in the temple that I built” (IRS 29), “. . . may I, for (my)
devotion, equally obtain happiness throughout nights and days” (IRS 31).
27 A version in the same tenor exists also in Elamite (MDP 41 2).
28 Dedications on stone or bronze objects are known also in Akkadian (MDP 41 VI – VIII),
as well as the one added on a statue taken as booty by Untaš-­Napiriša, who curses who-
ever would carry it away, but allows a future king of Elam to place it where he wishes
(MDP 10 85 and Pl. 10). In another inscription (EKI 9IIIb) he specifies that the successor
who would renovate his work had to replace his name.
29 Inscriptions, usually short, are also attested on statues carved in Elam (e.g. MDP  53
11–12) or brought to Susa as booty and sometimes reinscribed (e.g. EKI 20–27, CRS
111–112), as well as on other objects (MDP 53 8 and 11–12); see also Henkelman 2010:
494b – 495a, §1.4.
30 In the same spirit, he placed at the beginning of one of his texts the copy of an inscription
in the name of a SUKKAL.MAH who preceded him in the royal function some centuries
earlier (IRS 49).
31 In IRS 48 the emphasis is on this aspect: “. . . to Kiririša, lady of the one of the kizzum,
lady-­creator of the origins, to Inšušinak, lord of the kizzum, creator of the origins for the
princes of my line, protector who determines the/my name”.
32 IRS 49: “. . . O Kuk-­Kirwaš, deceased prince, may you wait for Inšušinak as intercessor”.
33 Furthermore, an inscription (MDP 53 15) on bricks found at Susa and Chogha Pahn West
(Stolper 1978: 89–91) omits Temti-­tur-­kataš, one of his sons. To add to the complexity of
this family puzzle, in some variants of another inscription (IRS 50) the name of Hutelutuš-­
Inšušinak is absent.
34 Išnikarab-­huhun, his sister, follows immediately in the chronological list.
35 Objects with dedication: for example, CRS 140, MDP 53 25.
36 A standard inscription (IRS 55) and a simple dedication to Išnikarab (IRS 56).
37 The translations of the Achaemenid inscriptions follow Lecoq 1997. In their sigla, the first
letter refers to the name of the king (A1: Artaxerxes I; A2: Artaxerxes II; A3: Artaxerxes III;
Am: Ariaramnes; As: Arsames; C: Cyrus; D: Darius I; D2: Darius II; X: Xerxes); the second
letter represents the place of discovery (B: Bisotun or Babylon; E: Elvend; H: Hamadan;
M: Pasargades; N: Naqsh-­e Rostam; P: Persepolis; S: Susa, V: Van; Z: Suez).
38 AmH, AsH, DPd, DPe, DSa, DSb, DSl, DSp, DSs, DSt, DSz, XH, XPl, XSc, D2Ha, D2Sa,
A2Hb, A2Hc, A2Sb, A2Sc, A3Pa, A3Sc.
39 Some vases bear short labels in Egyptian.
478
 — Elamite royal inscriptions —

40 Even if, contrarily to the earlier periods, these are not temples, which were absent from
Persian cult.

REF EREN CE S
André, B. and Salvini, M. 1989. Réflexions sur Puzur-­Inšušinak. Iranica Antiqua 24: 54–78.
Anthonioz, S. and Malbran-­Labat, F. 2013. Approche historique and philologique du titre royal
‘likame/we rišakki’. In: De Graef, K. and Tavernier, J. (eds.) Susa and Elam. Archaeological,
Philological, Historical and Geographical Perspectives. Proceedings of the International
Congress Held at Ghent University, December 14–17, 2009, Mémoires de la Délégation en
Perse 58. Leiden – Boston: Brill, 417–428.
Boucharlat, R. 1998. L’Iran au 1er millénaire avant J. C.: Recherches iraniennes récentes.
ISIMU. Revista sobre Orient Proximo y Egipto en la antiguedad 1: 143–155.
Daneshmand, P. and Abdoli, M. 2015. A New King of Susa and Anshan. Cuneiform Digital
Library Bulletin 2015/1, 6 pp.
Harper, P.O., Aruz, J. and Tallon, F. (eds.) 1994. La cité royale de Suse, French revised edition
by A. Caubet. Paris: Réunion des Musées nationaux.
Henkelman, W.F.M. 2008. From Gabae to Taoce: the geography of the central administrative
province. In: Briant, P., Henkelman, W.F.M. and Stolper, M.W. (eds.) L’archive des Forti-
fications de Persépolis. État des questions et perspectives de recherches, Persika 12, Paris:
Éditions de Boccard, 303–316.
———. 2010. Šilhak-­Inšušinak. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie 12: 492–495.
König, F.W. 1965. Die elamischen Königsinschriften, Archiv für Orientforschung, Beiheft 16.
Graz.
Lambert, M. 1972. Hutelutush-­ Inshushinak et le pays d’Anzan. Revue d’Assyriologie et
d’Archéologie Orientale 66: 61–76.
Lecoq, P. 1997. Les inscriptions de la Perse achéménide, L’aube des peuples. Paris: Gallimard.
Malbran-­Labat, F. 1995. Les inscriptions royales de Suse. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux.
McCall, B. 2013. Re-­assessing Elamite Highland Boundaries: New Evidence for the Middle
and Neo-­Elamite Periods in the Mamasani Valleys, South-­Western Iran. In: De Graef, K. and
Tavernier, J. (eds.) Susa and Elam. Archaeological, Philological, Historical and Geographical
Perspectives. Proceedings of the International Congress Held at Ghent University, Decem-
ber 14–17, 2009, Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 58. Leiden – Boston: Brill, 191–205.
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi, B. 2005. Eine Steininschrift des Amar-­Suen aus Tepe Bormi (Iran). Zeitschrift
für Assyriologie und vorderasiatische Archäologie 95: 161–171.
Potts, D.T. 2016. The Archaeology of Elam. Formation and Transformation of an Ancient Ira-
nian State, 2nd ed. (1st edition 1999). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Sollberger, E. and Kupper, J.-R. 1971. Inscriptions royales sumériennes et akkadiennes, Paris.
Steve, M.-J. 1967. Tchoga Zanbil (Dur Untash) III. Textes élamites et accadiens de Tchoga
Zanbil, Mémoires de la Délégation archéologique en Iran 41. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste
Paul Geuthner.
———. 1987, Nouveaux mélanges épigraphiques, inscriptions royales de Suse et de la Susiane,
Mémoires de la Délégation archéologique en Iran 53. Nice: Editions Serre.
Stolper, M.W. 1978. Inscribed fragments from Khuzistan. Cahiers de la Délégation
Archéologique Française en Iran 8: 89–91.

F URTHER R E AD ING
Edzard, D.O. and Renger, J. 1980. Königsinschriften. In: Reallexikon der Assyriologie 6: 59–76.
Grillot, F. and Vallat, F. 1984. Dédicace de Šilhak-­Inšušinak à Kiririša. Iranica Antiqua 19:
21–29 and Pl. I–III.
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Kozuh, M. 2014. Elamite and Akkadian Inscribed Bricks from Bard-­e Karegar (Khuzistan,
Iran). In: Kozuh, M., Henkelman, W.F.M., Jones, C.E. and Woods, C. (eds.) Extraction &
Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper, Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization
68. Chicago, IL: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 131–161.
Lafont, B. 2001. Inscriptions royales. In: Joannès, F. (ed.) Dictionnaire de la Civilisation Méso-
potamienne. Paris: R. Laffont, 410–412.
Lambert, M. 1970. Une inscription de Kutir-­Nahhunte. Journal Asiatique 258: 243–246.
———. 1978. Disjecta membra Aelamica (II). Arts Asiatiques 34: 3–27.
Vallat F. 1970a. Table élamite de Darius Ier. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale
64: 97–107.
———. 1970b. Fragments de Suse. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale 64: 171.
———. 1971. Deux nouvelles ‘chartes de fondation’ d’un palais de Darius Ier à Suse. Syria 68:
53–59.
———. 1972a. Deux inscriptions élamites de Darius Ier (DSf et DSz). Studia Iranica 1: 3–13
and Pls. I–III.
———. 1972b. Une statue de Darius Ier à Suse. Journal Asiatique 260: 247–251.
———. 1972c. Épigraphie achéménide. Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique Française en
Iran 2: 203–217.
———. 1974a. Les textes cunéiformes de la statue de Darius. Cahiers de la Délégation
Archéologique Française en Iran 4: 161–170.
———. 1974b. L’inscription trilingue de Xerxès à la porte de Darius. Cahiers de la Délégation
Archéologique Française en Iran 4: 171–180.
———. 1974c. La triple inscription cunéiforme de la statue de Darius Ier (DSa). Revue d’As-
syriologie et d’Archéologie Orientale 68: 157–166.
———. 1978. Une brique élamite de Hutelutush-­ Inshushinak. Cahiers de la Délégation
Archéologique Française en Iran 8: 97–107.
———. 1979. Les inscriptions du palais d’Artaxerxès II. Cahiers de la Délégation Archéologique
Française en Iran 10: 145–154.
———. 1980. Documents épigraphiques de la Ville Royale I (1972 et 1975). Cahiers de la
Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran 11: 135–139.
———. 1981a. Un fragment de brique de Tépé Bormi inscrit en élamite. Cahiers de la Déléga-
tion Archéologique Française en Iran 12: 193–196.
———. 1981b. L’inscription de la stèle d’Untash-­Napirisha. Iranica Antiqua 16: 27–33.
———. 1983. Les briques élamites de Deylam. In: Koch, H. and MacKenzie, D.N. (eds.) Kunst,
Kultur und Geschichte der Achämenidenzeit und ihr Fortleben, Archäologische Mitteilun-
gen aus Iran, Ergänzungsband 10. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 11–18.
———. 1990. Deux inscriptions royales en élamite de l’époque des Epartides (sukkalmah).
Nouvelles Assyriologiques brèves et utilitaires, 1990/137, 112–113.
Yoyotte, J. 1972. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques de Darius et l’Égypte. Journal Asiatique 260:
253–266.
———. 1974. Les inscriptions hiéroglyphiques de la statue de Darius à Suse. Cahiers de la
Délégation Archéologique Française en Iran 4: 181–183.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ELAMITE ADMINISTRATION

Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo

I n order to explain the matter treated in this chapter, the word “administration”
and the adjective “Elamite” firstly require clarification. According to the Concise
Oxford English Dictionary, “administration” has at least two different meanings: 1)
“the organization and running of a business or system” and 2) “the government in
power” (Concise Oxford English Dictionary, 11th edition, s.v. administration). In
what follows, the term administration takes these two meanings together, that is, it is
defined as the management of a state from a practical, organizational (not political)
point of view. A state is the institution which leads, controls, and provides a means
of self-­identification to communities sharing a politically unified territory (cf. the
definitions reported in Scheidel 2013). States were created as centralized administra-
tions (Yoffee 2005: 26), and administration is a constitutive element of a state, which
would otherwise be a different form of socio-­political aggregation (Trigger 2003:
195–196).
An administration is needed when an institution has reached a certain degree of
complexity. Surely there were, before the adoption of writing, and still there are,
small-­scale administrations where writing was not known or used, relying on a pyra-
mid scheme of control and arranging commodities according to fixed patterns estab-
lished in advance (e.g. associating them to agents using mnemonic devices), but only
to a very limited extent. Broadly speaking, if we have written documents, we have
an administration. From this point of view, administration is a synonym of bureau-
cracy, that is, a system where paperwork is used to track what is going on. In this
way, we can connect the above-­mentioned definition of administration to the starting
points of historical research, the extant administrative corpora from the past. The
material evidence of offices, archives, and storerooms is rarely attested and used,
while metatextual or paratextual data derived from seal impressions or the formal
characteristics of textual carriers (usually tablets) have been increasingly studied in
the last decades.
Administration provides auxiliary services needed to run an institution (a state or a
private organization). First of all, it could manage the inbound and outbound flow of
resources (e.g. food and clothing) needed to sustain workers partially or completely
dependent on the institution (including administration employees) or living on its

481
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo —

shoulders (e.g. the king and his family, the elite, and courtiers). Then administration
could manage the inbound and outbound flow of goods (including raw materials and
precious objects for keeping in treasury) and tools needed to equip all the workers
and employees (including weapons for the army), build and maintain infrastructures
(e.g. facilities, depots, fortresses, roads, canals, and dams), and display power (e.g.
rituals, feasting, and banqueting). Written documents both account for human and
material resources and record who is responsible for them, ensuring accountability in
order to prevent robberies or frauds.
An administration requires a hierarchy of officials, a decision-­making chain, means
of communication, shared protocols for transferring commodities, a structured space
(corresponding to an administrative topography), and a calendar. Sometimes these
features surface in the written documentation, though usually in exceptional cases,
because there was no need for elucidating common practices.
The administration of a political entity controlling a wide range of territories
was actually built by several autonomous regional centers, in most cases originating
from different pre-­existing administrative traditions which were retained with some
adjustments, growing as the time passed by. The expansion of an administrative
center was limited technologically by the time required for a message to go to and
fro between one of its remotest local units, with a speed that – at that time – could
not be faster than that of its human carrier (unless a system of beacons or pigeon
post was in use).
The focus of an administrative document is on accounting and accountability, that
is, to keep track of quantities and commodities but also, at the same time, of officials
who had responsibility over them. To pursue these aims, the scribe had to record also
the involved people (often referring to them in groups by their occupation, ethnic-
ity, and/or leader), places, and time. Besides economy, this could feed data to other
research fields like onomastics and prosopography, toponymy and historical geogra-
phy, chronology and history of science (for timekeeping).
Regarding the definition of “Elamite”, here it refers to documentation found in
Susiana, Anshan, and – theoretically – the intermontane valleys in between, not nec-
essarily in Elamite language only. The extant corpora matching these requirements
are the product of the following administrations, serving different political entities
and therefore resulting from different administrative needs and practices:

• the administration of Susa around 3000 BCE, which expressed itself using Proto-­
Elamite writing. It is possible that written evidence in Proto-­Elamite coming
from other sites around the Iranian plateau represents local instances of the same
administrative system, at least in a broad way. Due to the uncertainties in the
understanding of this writing and the related language, it will not be taken into
account in what follows (see J. Dahl, Chapter 19 in this volume);
• the Old Akkadian administration of Susa, a branch of the Old Akkadian
administrative system based in Mesopotamia, whose records were written in
Old Akkadian language. The Ur III dominion surely established a branch of its
administration in Susa, but the few extant documents dated or datable to this
period, written in Sumerian, are scattered across several publications and still
need a thorough reassessment to provide a general picture of this foreign admin-
istration (De Graef 2005: 91–99; 2013: 268–269; 2015: 292–294, §9.3.2–3).

482
 — Elamite Administration —

Two fragmentary administrative texts (M-129 and M-1654) in Sumerian were

found in Tall-­e Malyan (Stolper 1982: 57, n. 52; cf. Reiner 1972);
• the administration of the polity (the so-­called Sukkalmah kingdom) established
in the first half of the 2nd millennium with Susa as the main political center,
whose documents were probably written only in Babylonian until ca. 1400 BCE.
About 1400 tablets in the Babylonian dialect of Susa pertain to private law (con-
tracts, loans, adoptions, etc., probably kept in a public institution), but there
were also many economic documents attesting a purely Mesopotamian orga-
nization (De Graef 2013: 272; see Peyronel, Chapter 11 in this volume); some
930 texts were discovered during the early excavations (1890s–1930s) and are
published in Scheil 1908: 14–80, 1930, 1932, 1933: 1–102, and 1939: 37–161,
and Dossin 1927, nos. 67–235; about 500 tablets were found in the Ville Royale
during Ghirshman’s excavations (1950s–1960s), 86 of which are published in De
Graef 2006. Some properly administrative corpora are represented by the tablets
from Haft Tappeh in Susiana, dated to the last part of the period. Little is known
about the textual typologies of the unpublished Babylonian documents from
Tall-­e Malyan (De Graef 2013: 272); according to Matthew W. Stolper (1976:
90, §2, and 95, sub c; 1982: 57, n. 52) they are just two school texts (M-498 and
M-924);
• the administration of the polities established in the first half of the 1st millennium
having Anshan and Susa as administrative centers and Elamite as the adminis-
trative language. The two extant corpora are dated to the start and end of the
period: the tablets from Tall-­e Malyan from the beginning of the 1st millennium,
that is, the end of the Middle Elamite period, and the tablets from the Acropolis
of Susa from ca. 600, possibly even later, that is, very close to the Achaemenid
period. It is difficult to state if they were expressions of the same political entity;
• the Achaemenid administration of Fars, whose documents were written in
Elamite and Aramaic. The two related corpora are the Persepolis Fortification
and the Persepolis Treasury tablets; isolated findings outside Persepolis add fur-
ther relevant data about the system, which has to be integrated with comparisons
to other Achaemenid administrations outside Fars (e.g. the Aramaic documents
from Bactria published in Naveh and Shaked 2012).

Surely there were other administrative corpora pertaining to the above-­mentioned

administrations and also to other, still unknown, systems and polities. The list above
shows great gaps both in time and space. First of all, nearly nothing is known of the
Sukkalmah administrative system, even if administrative tablets are known among
the legal documents in Old Babylonian; furthermore, there is proof, both from Meso-
potamia and Susa, of diplomatic exchanges with Hammurabi and Zimri-­Lim during
the reign of Siwepalarhupak, “governor of Elam” (EKI 3:5), which must have been
supported by a chancellery (Charpin 2013). Later in the 2nd millennium, it seems
unlikely that a complex like Chogha Zanbil, the ancient Al Untash-­Napirisha, was
built without the support of a specific administrative branch that took care of the
food for the workers and the materials (especially the precious ones) required for
construction and furnishings.
From the list above, another peculiarity appears, that is, the use of different lan-
guages. This is not surprising over such a wide span of time and space, but in the

483
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo —

Achaemenid administration of Persepolis, multilingualism is attested also in a same

period and place. This, again, could be expected in a state controlling many lands
and peoples. However, it is possible that multilingual administrations were also active
previously in Susa, where Elamite and Akkadian seem to be equally attested, even if
with a different timing.
The political frame in which the above-­mentioned administrations operated was
also very different: the Old Akkadian administration in Susa was dependent on and
in strict relationships with the Old Akkadian state. The Achaemenid administration
of Fars was also part of a broader system, even if in this case it was at the core of the
state. The other administrations in Susiana and Anshan appear to be more genuinely
Elamite, but we do not know how these administrations would have defined them-
selves from an ethnic and cultural point of view.
The inclusion of the Achaemenid administration of Persepolis here is justified not
only by the use of Elamite language but also by strong similarities in palaeogra-
phy and administrative formulae with the Susa Acropolis tablets, so that it is pos-
sible to consider the Persepolis administration as a legacy of the previous Elamite
administrative system, with changes and developments due to the enlarged context
(Basello 2011). However, these changes seem to be more in terms of quantity (i.e. in
the numbers of managed resources and involved persons) than in quality (different
procedures).
Private administration documents are also present in the record of Susa, for exam-
ple, the archives of the Ur III scribe Igibuni (De Graef 2005) and later, of Ashishi
(De Graef 2006, chapter VIII.B), both from Ville Royale Chantier B. Their connec-
tions with the state-­led administrations (both in actual relationships and in similarity
of practices) require further investigation, bearing in mind that the public-­private
dichotomy, as it is conceived today, is not directly applicable to the ancient Near
Eastern polities (Garfinkle 2005). Conversely, it should be recalled that the ancient
Near Eastern state was steered by the king as a privately owned company at least
partly dependent on his estates and revenues, even if the king alone could embody a
state only symbolically: he needed an elite (including his kin) to share the power and
subjects. The legislative, executive, and judicial powers were distributed between the
king and the elite. The administration lies somewhat across these powers, since it is
needed to manage each different branch of a state, such as the court and the army.

ADMINISTRATIV E CO RP O RA
Susa old Akkadian tablets
Approximately 90 Akkadian and Sumerian tablets dated or datable to the Old Akka-
dian period were found at different locations in the Acropolis of Susa during the
excavation campaigns of 1898–1910 (Scheil in Legrain 1913) and were published by
Legrain (1913) in cuneiform copy and transliteration (some also in photogravure).
Another tablet (TS/Ac 32) was found in the 1966 excavations (Steve and Gasche
1971: 80 and 198, transliteration on p. 13, cuneiform copy on Pl. 11:26, photo on
Pl. 98:2; Foster 2016: 73). These tablets are similar in palaeography to the Akkadian
ones found in Eshnunna and other Mesopotamian cities (Foster 1982) under the Old
Akkadian dominion. Old Akkadian administrative textual typologies like household

484
 — Elamite Administration —

income and receipt documents are also attested. The orthographic and linguistic evi-
dence of these texts is taken into account in the treatment of Old Akkadian in Has-
selbach 2005.
The texts, economic and juridical in content (De Graef 2013: 264), are partly
official records of the Old Akkadian administration in Susa (e.g. MDP 14 47 and
51) and attest to the existence of a self-­sustaining Akkadian enclave which may have
been called Dur-­Agade (“Fort Akkad”), under the direction of an Akkadian governor
(Foster 2016: 73), with a military garrison and close economic contacts with south-
ern Babylonia and Diyala (see Steinkeller, Chapter 10 in this volume).
Thanks to personnel lists, we know that the administration managed more than a
thousand individuals: the ruling elite (including the governor), courtiers and admin-
istrators (including scribes, a diviner, attendants of the palace), the skilled labor force
(artisans, cooks, barbers, one seal cutter, carpenters, smiths, leather workers, fullers,
reed workers, and arrow makers), and unskilled laborers (divided into the usual Mes-
opotamian categories of fitness for work, including women, girls, and babies) (Foster
2016: 73). As recipients of food, there were “supervisors of laborers, slaughterers,
craftsmen, the officer in charge of the palace gate, a messenger and runner, a herald,
soldiers, elders, and various foreigners”, while expenditures went also for offerings
to deities (Foster 2016: 73).
Although relatively small in comparison to other Akkadian estates, the governor’s
household was about 450 ha, labored by a workforce bearing mostly Sumerian or
Akkadian names. This suggests that the enclave was self-­sustainable and not depen-
dent on land lease or levy as elsewhere (Foster 2016: 74).
Toponyms like Shuruppak, Sumer, Surgul, Uru’a, and Apishal are mentioned in
the tablets, as well as places in Iran like Anshan. Travelers from Dilmun, Magan,
and Meluhha are also attested, substantiating the role of Susa as a commercial hub
towards the east.
Some documents are related to Sumerian merchant families holding fields at Susa
(e.g. MDP 14 19, 21); a tablet lists transactions with barley, wool, and copper pur-
chased or valued in silver (Foster 2016: 74). There are also some school exercises,
signlist fragments, and an incantation (MDP 14 91). Unfortunately, it is not possible
to know the find-­spots of these texts and therefore if, however improbable, the dif-
ferent typologies and groups were found together in a primary deposition of archival
type. Even if the number of documents is relatively small, they attest a wide range of
administrative typologies, dealing with raw materials, field production, food rations,
and personnel.
The Old Elamite texts dated to the Old Akkadian period, that is, two school or
incantation tablets (Lambert 1974) and the so-­called Treaty of Naram-­Suen (Hinz
1967), represent a very good match in palaeography, suggesting the establishment
of a school in Susa where it was possible to learn Mesopotamian cuneiform writing.
Taken as a whole, the tablets dated or datable to the Old Akkadian period from
Susa point to the existence of an Old Akkadian administration and school, largely
employed by and dealing with Mesopotamian expatriates, in addition to some
smaller-­scale private administrations of foreign (Sumerian) entrepeneurs. At the same
time, someone was also writing in Elamite using Old Akkadian cuneiform, therefore
assuring the existence of an Elamite cultural tradition, even if  – according to the
extant evidence – not applied to administrative records.

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Haft Tappeh Babylonian tablets

During the excavations led by Negahban in the years 1965–1979, “Several thousand
complete and fragmentary tablets” were found at Haft Tappeh (probably the ancient
site of Kapnak, less than 20 km south of Susa) (Negahban 1991: 103). About 300
tablets have been published, mainly in cuneiform copy (out of 619 texts copied by
Pablo Herrero according to Herrero and Glassner 1990: 1; cf. Herrero and Glassner
1996: 51: “nous nous proposons ici de présenter . . . la suite et la fin des copies de
P. Herrero”): 10 tablets (and one envelope) in cuneiform copy and transliteration
(with a commentary) in Herrero 1976, the others in cuneiform copy with a usually
short commentary in Herrero and Glassner 1990 (including a stela fragment [no.
1] and an inscribed spool [no. 3]), 1991 (including four tablet fragments from Abu
Fandowa [nos. 160–163], a site 1  km north-­west of Haft Tappeh), 1993 (with an
appendix of remarks and corrections to the cuneiform texts published in Negahban
1991), and 1996 (including one tablet fragment from Abu Fandowa [no. 290]); a
further, stray, tablet is in Beckman 1991. The texts are broadly categorized according
to their content by Glassner: construction of chariots (Herrero and Glassner 1990,
nos. 5–13), metalworking (including gold, silver, and bronze objects, nos. 14–70),
lists of anthroponyms (Herrero and Glassner 1991, nos. 71–80), dated or sealed tab-
let and envelope fragments (nos. 81–88); fragments with accounts (nos. 89–159),
clothing (Herrero and Glassner 1993, nos. 164–185), livestock and animals (nos.
186–205), a juridical document (no. 206), a omen text (207), practical texts (Herrero
and Glassner 1996, nos. 208–267), school and lexical texts (nos. 268–290) (four
texts from Abu Fandowa are grouped together in Herrero and Glassner 1991, nos.
160–163). Seals and seal impressions (found also on bullae) are treated in Negahban
1991: 49–101 and Amiet 1999. A general treatment with remarks on chronology is
in Glassner 1991.
Many of the tablets were found together in three distinct groups: the trench H
XXXI in the northern part of the Terrace Complex I, the courtyard in front of the art-
ist’s workshop of the Terrace Complex I, and in Haft Tappeh B mound opposite the
railroad station (Negahban 1991: 103). The onomasticon is mostly Elamite; month-­
names are also Elamite (Herrero 1976: 93–94). Some texts are dated internally with
day, month-­name, and year-­name. Year-­names mentioning messengers to and from
Babylonia, and the defeat of Kadashman-­Enlil (a name borne by two Cassite kings)
testify to military conflicts and economic relationships with Cassites (Reiner 1973:
94–97, §5; Herrero 1976: 93; Glassner 1991: 119 and 125–126; Carter 1999: 118).
Thanks to the archaeologist’s eye of Negahban, we know that the tablets were usu-
ally made “from a fine, well levigated clay which might have been mixed with a small
portion of natural bitumen or other additive which changed its color . . . These ingre-
dients were kneaded to make a flexible patty . . .” (Negahban 1991: 103). Negahban
remarked that rectangular and “disk-­shaped” (lentil) tablets were found, correspond-
ing to different textual typologies: letter orders, “economic texts”, school texts (on
lentils), texts of extispicin, auguries, and omens. To Negahban’s list, mathematical
tablets must be added (listed in Robson 2008: 330, table B.17). Even if only the first
two categories pertain to administration, the tablets from Haft Tappeh represent the
more typologically varied corpora from Elam. Unfortunately, the find-­spot of each
tablet is not provided in the publications, so we do not know if administrative tab-
lets were found together with school texts and other textual typologies. In this case,
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the narrow link between administration and scribal school could be emphasized,
confirming that the school trained scribes to write both administrative and literary
documents, or that administration training included the literary curriculum.
In recent years, in the framework of the Iranian-­German excavations led by Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi at the site since 2005, new tablet discoveries were made in Areal I (ca. 200 m
south-­west of the previously excavated area) in a building with storerooms which has
been interpreted as administrative: ca. 30 tablets from room 1 in 2005, ca. 30 tablets
from room 5 and ca. 50 tablets from room 12 in 2007 (Prechel 2010: 51 and 56).
A sample of four tablets is published in Prechel 2010. These texts are administrative
in character; some are inventory lists related to weapons and riding equipment (see
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi, Chapter 12 in this volume). They are similar to the other adminis-
trative tablets found in the previous excavations, even if they seem to pertain to some
other administrative department (as shown, e.g., by the tablets from Room 1 which are
not sealed and do not bear dates; Prechel 2010: 51). Prechel has read a tablet mention-
ing an item, watwat (perhaps an Elamite term formed by a reduplicated base), known
also from a group of previously found tablets related to the construction of luxurious
chariots, probably to be used by the king or for some ritual function (Prechel 2010: 51).
Room 1 in the administrative building in Areal I has been identified by Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi as the workroom of the scribes (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b): a small chan-
nel in the floor could have served the purpose of discharging the water used to mould
and keep tablets wet while writing; the tablets were found in an ash layer on the floor
along the walls; they were probably kept on shelves of tamarisk wood, whose burned
remains were also found; a stone mortar was possibly used to crush and refine clay
for tablets (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b: 750–752). The dating of these tablets should
be nearly coeval to the destruction of the building, being the tablets in use at its
moment of demise. The subsequent campaigns have also brought to light some other
tablets (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a and 2014). When published, these tablets, together
with their detailed find-­spot data and archaeological context, will permit a deeper
understanding of Haft Tappeh’s administration and, possibly, its relationships with
the Susa administration in the first half of the 2nd millennium.

Tall-­e Malyan EDD tablets

The Middle Elamite period is especially represented at Tall-­e Malyan, the ancient
city of Anshan, in the Operation EDD where a large burned building with a central
courtyard (10 × 14 m) surrounded by rooms and corridors was brought to light on
the highest part of the mound (Stolper 1984a: 1–3; Carter 1996). During the excava-
tion campaigns in the years 1972–1974, on the floor and between the collapsed walls
of the burned level (IVa) in the sectors A and B (plan in Stolper 1984a: 4, Figure 3),
246 inscribed fragments and tablets were found. They probably formed a compact
group, since fragments from the floor and the collapse were able to be joined in at
least three instances (Stolper 1984a: 5). 111 tablets and large fragments, ca. half of
the 200 original tablets, are published in Stolper 1984a. Three stray tablets, similar to
EDD level IV documents, are published in Stolper 2003. Most of the tablets are small
and cigar-­shaped (Stolper 1984a: 16).
The texts are administrative documents (except for fragments TTM 1 100–102,
lacking a date formula, which perhaps are master copies of royal inscriptions; Stolper
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1984a: 18) dealing with the disbursal and control of metals (copper or bronze, gold
and silver) to be used to fashion objects whose names, when they can be understood
in some way, point to architectural ornaments (including perhaps wall knobs) and
furnishings (Stolper 1984a: 10–13). Stolper split them according to a “gross clas-
sification” in “single-­issue memoranda”, “multiple and serial issues”, “dispatches”,
and “summary and tabular texts”. Single and multiple issue memoranda seem to be
related to an outward movement of goods and supplies within a local administration
(Stolper 1984a: 13), while the dispatches seem to record movements to and from des-
tinations outside the organization (Stolper 1984a: 16). The texts are dated internally
by month name and day number.
In 1976, from the burned level but in a different sector (H) of the building, another
group of tablets (34 tablets and fragments labelled as M-1461 and following num-
bers; Stolper 1984a: 5) was discovered, mostly in bad shape. This group differs from
the first by content: it is not related to metal but to the transfer of livestock, hides,
and foodstuffs (Stolper 1984a: 3). One tablet from this group (M-1471) is published
in Stolper 2013 together with two more of particular interest (see below).
Some other tablets (listed in Stolper 1984a: 3–5), more or less similar in size and
content to the other two groups, come from other sectors of the building. Among these
is M-603 (published in Stolper 2013), a tablet from the reoccupation level (IIIa) consti-
tuted by a domestic complex built over the burned wall remains (Carter 1996: 39–42);
it is similar in palaeography to the tablets from the burned level so, even if it is differ-
ent in content (Stolper 1984a: 5), its find-­spot was probably the result of a secondary
deposition (Stolper 2013: 400). The third tablet published in Stolper 2013 is M-1157.
From a palaeographical point of view, the tablets are much closer to Neo-­Elamite
than Middle Elamite writing; the same is true if one considers the attested inventory
of signs (Stolper 1984a: 21). In orthography, the use of broken writing, typical of
Achaemenid Elamite, is rare (Stolper 1984a: 20).
The pottery found on the floor of level IVa is similar to that of Susa Ville Royale
II level 10, which is dated to the end of the Middle Elamite period (c. 1000 BCE)
(Stolper 1984a: 5–6; Carter 1996: 29). The lower limit for the dating of the tablets is
represented by the burning that destroyed the building, baking the tablets. According
to Stolper, the tablets were written between 1300 and 1000 BCE, most probably in
the last third of this interval, just before the fire (Stolper 1984a: 9). Steve considered
them as the first Neo-­Elamite corpus (Neo-­Elamite I A; Steve 1992: 21), due to the
similarities to Neo-­Elamite documents in palaeography and language. The writing
of the Persepolis Achaemenid tablets seems to be a development from the Malyan
tablets, which can be considered as the first documents showing a clear advancement
towards the simplification of the signs, reducing the number of wedges and their
possible arrangements.

Susa Acropolis tablets (SAT)

The Susa Acropolis tablets represent a homogeneous corpus, counting 299 published
tablets found in 1900 during the French excavations led by Jacques de Morgan. Accord-
ing to Morgan and Scheil, the tablets were found a few metres to the south of the chapel
of Shutruk-­Nahunte II, beneath a structure leaning against the interior facade of the
Achaemenid wall of the Acropolis (Basello in press). It is not clear if the Acropolis wall

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had a military or a supporting function (probably both), or if it rested on some anal-

ogous pre-­Achaemenid structure. The Acropolis tablets can be dated to the first half
of the 6th century BCE (ca. 590–ca. 555), as proposed by Tavernier on historical and
orthographical grounds (Tavernier 2004: 39; see also Basello 2011: 62, n. 5).
The corpus is represented by MDP 9 1–298 published by Scheil in 1907 plus MDP
11 309 (similar to MDP 9 1–298 but apparently coming from a different, unmen-
tioned, find-­spot). Hundreds of tiny fragments kept in the Louvre storerooms are still
unpublished. MDP 9 88 has been considered related to the so-­called Nineveh letters
(Hinz 1986: 227; transliteration and translation in Hinz 1986: 231). The tablets were
re-­edited in Jusifov 1963 with a different numbering. MDP 9 34 is treated by Stolper
in Harper et al. 1992: 267–269, catalogue no. 188. MDP 9 11 has been recently col-
lated in Henkelman 2011a: 606–609. Tablets dealing with products received by gods
are discussed in Basello 2017, §4. The seal impressions still await a full publication
and have still to be connected to tablets; in the meantime, see Amiet 1973: 6–12 and
Pls. I–IV, nos. 1–16, and Garrison 2002; the seal impressed on MDP 9 165 is dis-
cussed in Basello 2013: 256–257 and photos on p. 264, Figs. 3–5.
The tablets usually record the delivery of (military?) clothing, weaponry, and
containers to several individuals and groups of people (identified through a shared
anthroponym or toponym). While the delivering institution should be a department
of the royal administration in Susa, sometimes the receivers appear to be autono-
mous groups, as in the cases of the puhu Samati-­p “inhabitants of Samati” (MDP 9
94:rev.11; literally “Samatian sons”), whose kings are known from the Kalmakarra
inscriptions, or three different groups of Parsa-­p “Persians” (e.g. MDP 9 11:rev.1–2).
While it remains difficult to define precisely the relationships linking these groups to
the power in Susa, the obvious interpretation suggests a kind of contract or alliance
where military equipment and weapons were provided to ensure allegiance if not
specifically military support.
The structure of the texts is more homogeneous than the Persepolis Fortification
tablets and follows roughly a common pattern, usually closed by the date formula
and a toponym:

(1) a list of quantities, products, and involved people;

(2) PAP (h)uta-­k (usually transcribed huttukki) “total manufactured? (items)”;
(3) kur-­ma-­n PN-na “under the responsibility of PN” (PN = personal name);
(4) a verbal form, mainly (h)uma-­k-­a “withdrawn?” or li(-)p-­k-­a “delivered?”. Few
other verbs are attested in alternative;
(5) the date formula (usually only the month name);
(6) a toponym (usually preceded by the place classifier AŠ).

In most of the texts, the same official, Kutakaka, was acknowledged as the person
in charge (kur-­ma-­n) for the administrative operation, assuring a certain compactness
of space and time to this corpus which can be considered an archival unit.

Persepolis fortification tablets (PFT)

More than 20,000 tablets and fragments were found in the north-­eastern tower of
the fortification wall of the terrace of Persepolis in 1933 during the excavations led

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by Ernst Herzfeld on behalf of the Oriental Institute of Chicago, where they were
sent afterwards on study loan. The find-­spot has been described in differing ways
(see Basello in press, §1.1, for a full reassessment). Certainly tablets were found high
above the floor in a “small room” on the ground floor (Herzfeld 1941: 226); accord-
ing to Herzfeld this room was walled up, and indeed a one-­brick thick sealing wall,
still standing ca. 1 m high with respect to the floor of the adjacent corridor, could
be guessed at in the few excavation photographs (e.g. Photographic Archives of the
Oriental Institute P. 24771 published in Basello in press, Figure  6). Both Herzfeld
(quotation in Schmidt 1957: 5, n. 11) and Krefter (1979: 23 and quotation in Hen-
kelman 2008: 71) mentioned also tablets above the remnants of stairs, which should
not be the stairway leading to the upper storey, but a few steps leading to a loophole
recess in the corridor in front of the “small room”. This could account for the men-
tion of “two little archive chambers” (i.e. the “small room” and the corridor with the
steps) in one of the first lectures on the subject by Herzfeld ([Anonymous] 1934: 231,
probably compiled using the text read by Herzfeld). However, the tablets on the steps
probably led Herzfeld to think that they had fallen down from the upper storey where
“the office of the guards” was housed, while maintaining the “small chamber” as a
dead archive downstairs (Herzfeld 1941: 226). In Wouter F.M. Henkelman’s words,
the tablets with “immediate bureaucratic relevance” were kept apart, while the older
ones, which “retained a certain legal function (accountability)”, were deposited in the
“small room” (Henkelman 2013: 530). The field number is the only extant way to
attempt a reconstruction of the original arrangement of the tablets.
The Persepolis Fortification tablets are internally dated to the regnal years 13–28
(509–493 BCE) of an unnamed king who was surely Darius I, being mentioned in
a few tablets (e.g. Fort. 6764 published in Cameron 1942 and Henkelman 2010).
A total of 15,000 or more original documents in Elamite, of which 6,000–7,000 are
still at least partially legible and meaningful (Henkelman 2013: 531; cf. Jones and
Stolper 2008: 43) has been estimated. About 2,400 texts have been published to date
(Henkelman 2013: 531), most of which in Hallock 1969 (2,087 tablets; PF 1–300
were sent back to the National Museum of Iran in 2004 [Henkelman 2013: 530]),
1978 (33 tablets), and Arfaee 2008a (153 tablets originally read by Cameron, 151
sent back from Chicago in 1948 and two found in later Iranian excavations at Perse-
polis, now in the National Museum of Iran [Tehran], plus ca. ten tablets that surfaced
there; see Henkelman 2008: 76, n. 170; cf. Arfaee 2008a: v; reviewed in Schmitt
2010). Further tablets are published in Cameron 1942, Henkelman 2003, 2008: 384–
415 and 455–463, 2010, 2011b-­d, Henkelman et al. 2006, Henkelman and Stolper
2009, Stolper 2015, and Azzoni and Stolper 2015 (see also Henkelman 2008: 76,
n. 171). A large group of 2,551 tablets circulating among scholars in a handwritten
transliteration by Hallock is set to be published by Henkelman (Henkelman 2008:
75–7). PFT-like Elamite tablets which were probably part of the same discovery but
later scattered (Henkelman 2008: 77, and n. 174) are published in Grillot 1986,
Vallat 1994, and Jones and Stolper 2006 (see the section “Isolated tablets” below).
As an archive, the tablets depict a complex administrative scenario, dealing with
“the intake, storage, and notably the redistribution of locally produced food com-
modities” (barley, wine, beer, livestock, etc.) for individuals and groups (male and
female workers, officials, members of the royal family, travellers, etc.), and also
animals (Henkelman 2013: 530). Most of the tablets are single-­issue memoranda,

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but there are also many letter orders and journals. Several administrative typologies
(labelled with letters from A  to W, including further numerical indexing in some
cases) were recognized by Hallock according to the managed commodities and the
structure of the text (Hallock 1969: 13–69; see the comments interspersed in Azzoni
and Stolper 2015: 9–12 and footnotes). Some of them deserved special attention, like
the Q texts related to travel rations (e.g. Giovinazzo 1994a and 1994b).
The memoranda are usually tongue-­shaped (straight on the left and rounded on
the right), with two strings emerging from the upper and lower ends of the left side;
the external tract of the strings had burnt or perished leaving two small holes in the
clay. The two strings were actually knotted together inside the tablet, which was then
moulded around the knot. Both were evidently sections of a longer string that had
either been wrapped around something, or had served as a means of suspension (see
Henkelman 2008: 154–161, §2.5.5.2 for a full reassessment). Journals are written on
large rectangular tablets (Jones and Stolper 2008: 29–33).
The seal impressions have been partly published in Garrison and Root 2001,
besides many other publications by Mark B. Garrison (see Garrison, Chapter 32 in
this volume).
The language of the Elamite tablets shows the influence of Old Persian in lexicon
and syntax (besides a largely Iranian onomasticon), so strong that Ilya Gershevitch
considered it as an alloglottography of Old Persian (see the reassessment in Rossi
2006: 78–82). However, while some fixed patterns of correspondences can be singled
out, the large number of variations suggests a case of heavy linguistic interference, as
can be expected in a bilingual socio-­cultural context (Henkelman 2011a: 588–595).
Not all the documents are in Elamite: besides 259 Aramaic epigraphs (usually a single
or a few words, numbers, or a date) among about 6,200 Elamite tablets and fragments
examined (Azzoni and Stolper 2015: 4–5), ca. 800 tablets are monolingual Aramaic,
written in ink or incised (Azzoni 2008). Aramaic (which could be written even after
a tablet had become completely dry and hardened; cf. Abrahami and Coulon 2009:
13 on hieratic epigraphs in ink on some Amarna letters) was evidently integrated into
the bureaucratic system, while isolated tablets in Phrygian, Greek, and Old Persian
remain oddities in the framework of a “general literacy”, unless they are just the “tip
of the iceberg” (Stolper and Tavernier 2007; see also Tavernier 2008). The only Bab-
ylonian tablet in the Persepolis Fortification archive is a legal text (Stolper 1984b).
The first tablet to be published, Fort. 6764 (in Cameron 1942; see also Henkelman
2010), dated to March–April 503 BCE, is a letter order that presents in a very useful
way the chain of command leading to a transaction in favour of one of the princesses
of the royal house. Parnaka, most probably the director of the Persepolis adminis-
tration, instructed Ariana to issue 100 sheep from the estate (ulhi) of the king to the
princess Artystone. Parnaka stresses three times that this order came directly from
the king. The very fact that the chain of command is stated in the text confirms its
exceptional character, probably connected to the origin of the order, that is, the king
in person. The tablet is dated by year and month, as is usual in the Persepolis Fortifi-
cation tablets; a few are dated also by the day. A colophon closes the text, providing
the names of the scribe and of the mail carrier, probably for accountability purposes.
Even if the Persepolis fortification has preserved thousands of administrative tab-
lets, there is no doubt that other Achaemenid administrative corpora have been lost
or still lie waiting underground at Persepolis, not to mention other centres of Fars

491
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and Khuzestan. The Persepolis Fortification tablets hardly recorded any commodi-
ties other than foodstuff. It is highly probable that another group of administrative
tablets dealt with metal and/or wood products. PF 335, an isolated “tools” text, is
the only extant exemplar pertaining to this group (Basello 2011: 75–78, §2.4.2),
probably mistakenly filed with the food ration texts represented by the Persepolis
Fortification archive. In structure and lexicon PF 335 is completely different from
the other Fortification tablets. The commodities are unknown to us, except for like, a
term which may point to wall knobs (Basello 2012).
The digitization of the whole corpus in the framework of the Persepolis Fortification
Archive Project (https://oi.uchicago.edu/research/projects/persepolis-­ fortification-­
archive) directed by Stolper will pave the way for new researches based on numerical
and statistical analyses, for example, calculating the volume of commodities managed
and the number of workers involved over the years in order to estimate the size and
developments of the Persepolis economy, an example of a system based on a newly
founded royal city.

Persepolis Treasury tablets (PTT)

The Persepolis Treasury tablets were found in the north-­eastern part of the so-­called
Treasury of Persepolis, mainly in a burned layer above the floor of the columned
room 33, during the Oriental Institute excavations led by Erich F. Schmidt in the
years 1936–1938 (Schmidt 1957: 4–5 and Figure 2 in between). Their distribution
suggests that they were kept in the upper floor and fell down during the conflagration
of the building (see also Cahill 1985: 380). The clusters of tablet pieces found on
the ramp 25 and stairway 49 also point to an archival deposition on the upper floor
(Schmidt 1957: 5). According to Schmidt (1957: 4), 198 tablets and large fragments,
548 smaller fragments, and a number of chips and flakes were found. 138 tablets
and fragments were published by George G. Cameron in one monograph (Cameron
1948 [PT 1–84]; PT 10 is updated in Arfaee 2008b) and two articles (Cameron 1958
[PT-1957 1–5] and 1965 [PT-1963 1–20]); the rest are still unpublished. PTT were
divided between the National Museum of Iran (Tehran) and the Oriental Institute
Museum (Chicago). Very good photographs (obtained with the method described
in Cameron 1948: viii) of the tablets in Chicago were published in the plates of
Cameron 1948, but the seal impressions (placed on the left side, see below) were not
visible since the focus was on the cuneiform text. A further fragment, curiously the
first, isolated, tablet to be found at Persepolis but subsequently forgotten, is published
in Jones and Yie 2011.
Most of the tablets are tongue-­shaped and moulded around a knotted string
emerging from the clay at the two ends of the left side, like PFT. The contents are
generally longer and the tablets larger than the single-­issue memoranda of PFT. The
wedges are clearly impressed and the signs generally well-­spaced.
PTT dealt with (partial) payments in silver, sometimes in lieu of food rations (in
sheep, wine, beer, barley), generally to groups of specialized craftsmen (Hallock 1960:
90–91; Henkelman 2013: 534). The exchange rate of silver/foodstuff and the differ-
ent amounts for different workers were also provided. The person responsible for the
apportionment (šara-­ma-­n-­a) seems to be the actual executor. There are two types
of documents: letter orders and memoranda. Letters were addressed to the so-­called

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Treasurer (kapnuški-­r) at Persepolis, requesting payments in silver; memoranda state

that a payment has been made. Another typology is represented by PT 4–8 and PT
81–84 which clearly report a different administrative operation, recording huge
amounts of silver given to individuals generally bearing Persian names, sometimes
by command of king Darius. Only these tablets seem to be related to Persian high
officials and, maybe, to soldiers (see the occurrences of tašup ‘army’ in PT 84).
The work period covered by the payment is given in months and regnal year. The
name of the king is not provided in the date formula, but through prosopographical
reasoning (Cameron 1948: 32–34) it was possible to date the tablets from the 30th
regnal year of Darius I to the 7th of Artaxerxes I (not all regnal years in between are
attested), that is, from 492 to 457 BCE.
All the texts recording silver paid in lieu of barley (about half of the published tab-
lets) are dated to an eight-­month period (December/January 467 to July/August 466)
where the exchange rate of barley to silver grew from 1/30 shekel per quart of barley
to 1/4 shekel. Something could have happened in this period, maybe a barley short-
age which prevented the administration from paying the entire wage in kind, requir-
ing the institution managing silver (kapnuški, e.g. in PT 27:5–6, usually translated
“Treasury”) to provide it. These supplementary payments in silver may be considered
extraordinary, while the silver payments in lieu of wine and sheep are numerically less
relevant and evenly distributed in time with a constant rate, representing the usual
business (Cahill 1985: 381). However, as remarked by Jones and Yie (2011: 11–12
and n. 7), this could be due to the usual fluctuation of the silver/barley rate during the
winter months before the barley harvested in May and June becomes available. This
kind of interpretative error, where the extant data is considered exceptional even if
there is no comparative data, could be called “positivist fallacy”.
Almost all the tablets are sealed, but only with one seal per tablet (Garrison and
Root 2001: 33), belonging to the official who authorized and ordered the operation,
that is, the sender in the case of a letter. The seals are cylinder seals mostly carved
in the so-­called “court style” and therefore reflecting the social status of the officials
operating in Persepolis (Garrison and Root 2001: 34).
One hundred ninety-­ nine sealed clay bullae and tongue-­ shaped anepigraphic
tablets were also found in the Treasury (Schmidt 1957: 5–7 and Figure  3, called
generically “labels”); the find-­spots coincide partly with the tablets (room 33 and
adjacent areas) but not exclusively, so they were not necessarily related to PTT even
if clearly a product of the same administrative system. They are formed as lumps of
clay wrapped around strings that were tied to objects, bearing four to six different
seal impressions (Schmidt 1957: 6). The clay was shaped in different ways, possibly
corresponding to the category of object to which they were attached. Certain shapes
and seal impressions were found only in specific rooms, suggesting the existence of
patterns in the distribution of stored goods (Cahill 1985: 381).
One rectangular tablet in Babylonian (PT 85 in Cameron 1948) was found together
with PTT, dealing with taxation. It seems to be rather different both for its language
and function.
PTT were concerned with low-­level administration and did not involve taxes or
gifts, but wages of workers in the Persepolis area (Cahill 1985: 381). With respect to
PFT, PTT represent a more homogeneous archive. Handwriting is less differentiated,
suggesting that they were all drafted in Persepolis. Some officials (e.g. Ashbazana)

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 — Gian Pietro Basello and Grazia Giovinazzo —

attested in PFT reappear in PTT, remaining active through many years; four seals are
attested both on PFT and PTT (Garrison and Root 2001: 33). The name of Hintam-
uka (Hipirukka in Cameron 1948) appears as that of a scribe both on PFT and PTT
(e.g. PF 1182:15 and PT 1:21). Henkelman (2013: 534) stressed that PTT represent
a different branch of administration, not a subsequent, new way of remunerating
workers.
A complete reassessment of the Treasury material is needed, providing detailed
analysis of the relationships between clay bullae and tablets, correlating find-­spots,
seal impressions, and shapes. Moreover, as suggested by Garrison and Root (2001:
34), the examination of the undersides of bullae may provide clues to their usage,
while the analysis of clay may provide data on the locales of production.

Isolated tablets
Isolated administrative documents are represented by MDP 36 2 (one of the three
Elamite tablets from the Ville des Artisans in Susa), MDP 28 468 (probably Ach-
aemenid according to Stolper 2004: 63, §1.2.4.1; see also Waters 2000: 100), BM
56302 (published in Walker 1980; “a Late Elamite administrative tablet, registered
as coming from Sippar, Babylonia” according to Walker 1980: 79), and a tablet from
Chogha Mish (in appearance similar to the Susa Acropolis tablets; Delougaz and
Kantor 1996: 17 and Pl. 5.K; see Henkelman 2008: 78, n. 176).
Some other Elamite administrative tablets (one published in Grillot 1986, two in
Vallat 1994 [now in the Bibel+Orient Museum of Fribourg; see also Basello 2012],
and nine in Jones and Stolper 2006 [formerly part of the Erlenmeyer collection])
are similar to the Persepolis Fortification tablets in every respect and can therefore
be considered as discovered together during the Oriental Institute excavations and
later scattered. YBC 16813 (published in Jones and Stolper 1986) and the Qasr-­e
Abu Nasr tablet (published in Henkelman et  al. 2006) are different in their seal
impressions and other details like orthography, lexicon, and onomastics, suggesting
that they originated in other Achaemenid administrative centres. More relevant are
the two fragments of PFT-like tablets from Old Kandahar in southern Afghanistan
(Fisher and Stolper 2015) which seem to attest the existence of a PFT-like archive
there.

A DMINISTRATIVE TEX TUAL TYP O L O G IE S

Usually an administrative corpus – its survival being the result of chance – does not
represent the whole administration but a branch of it within a limited span of time.
One of the aims of the study of an administrative corpus is to answer the following
question: why were these documents written? This question may be better framed
through another, probably unanswerable, question: what was not written because its
recording was not useful or required by the system? The answer to the first question
would be only the first step towards the understanding of administration as a system.
A further step would be to define the system as an ancient administrator did, that is,
to recognize the different administrative departments, their hierarchical organization,
the name and functions of the involved officials, the standard procedures, the admin-
istrative terminology, and the issues at stake in a diachronic perspective.

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An administrative corpus could provide useful data to estimate the (minimum)

size of the administration that produced it. Size could be measured by evaluating the
quantities of resources by unit of time and the number of individuals working in or
served by the administration. Some administrative corpora are focused on a specific
category of commodities (e.g. food rations, clothing, weapons, or raw materials)
while others managed different commodities together. The scope of an administra-
tive corpus is another relevant parameter in the reconstruction of the related admin-
istration, because it provides clues about what was considered homogeneous and
therefore to be treated together, what was considered different and therefore treated
separately by other departments (being difficult or unuseful to manage together),
and what did not pertain to the administration and therefore was not treated at
all. The wider the scope, the smaller the size of the administration, at least in most
cases. For example, the scope of the Susa Acropolis tablets is wider than that of the
Persepolis Fortification tablets, which are focused only on food rations, but there is
little doubt that the Persepolis archive was much broader in size (the extant tablets
and fragments are ca. 70 times more than those from Susa), showing many more
administrative typologies.
The archival context of a corpus has to be evaluated by considering if its find-­
spot was a primary deposition or a secondary one (i.e. a dump); in the first case, the
archive could be running or dead at the moment of its end (Garrison and Root 2001:
26–29, focused on the Persepolis Fortification tablets); if it was running, its end must
have been abrupt.
An administrative corpus is broadly defined by unity of find-­spot; rarely is it
defined also by unity of administrative typology. The different administrative typolo-
gies are usually reconstructed by modern scholars studying the texts, generally eval-
uating their content and structure, and neglecting other formal characteristics of the
document (size, shape, etc.). Therefore, modern classifications, while being useful
tools to understand the texts, usually do not correspond to the ancient ones, which
remain largely unknown. Nor is it possible to reconstruct the original arrangement
of the documents on shelves, baskets, and so on for the administrative corpora from
Elam, due to the lack of proper archaeological data and also because some corpora
were probably not in a primary deposition context. An exception is represented by a
small group of anepigraphic tablets found in a jar on the Kuh-­e Rahmat fortifications
at Persepolis (Garrison and Root 2001: 34; cf. Henkelman 2013: 534–535); another
discovery of tablets in jar, mentioned by Mecquenem, is unfortunately undocumented
(De Graef 2005: 91–92).
Sometimes it is possible to distinguish economic documents (related to the man-
agement of resources) from strictly administrative documents (related to the man-
agement of officials and common people working in the administration), but this
distinction does not seem to be productive since both kinds of documents have been
usually found together in the extant corpora. It seems more appropriate to distinguish
between corpora dealing with material or human resources, and between corpora
related to transactions (inbound and outbound) or accumulation of commodities
(represented by lists or inventories). The distinction between administrative and legal
(contracts, loans, adoptions, testaments; e.g. the tablets from the Apadana of Susa
MDP 11 301–307, the witness list published in Scheil 1928: 40–42, Fort. 11786 pub-
lished in Stolper 1984b) documents is clearer, at least to us.

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The category of managed commodities is the key element distinguishing one

administrative department from another. A further functional distinction could usu-
ally be recognized by evaluating the place of the written document into the chain
of the administrative process related to a given transaction. Authorizations (usually
in the form of letter orders) preceded the transaction, while memoranda followed
it. Letter orders are standard administrative texts framed in a letter, that is, starting
with a standard opening formula mentioning first the addressee and then the sender
(Basello 2011, §2.2.1); here the focus is on communication, usually between a high
official (the sender) and the official who has direct access to some resources. Memo-
randa can be distinguished as single-­issue or multiple-­issue memoranda (Azzoni and
Stolper 2015: 5–6, both focused on the Persepolis Fortification tablets; see Henkel-
man 2008: 102, fn. 228 for the use of this term). Multiple issue memoranda are char-
acterized by unity in one or, generally, more of the following categories (which are
provided only once in the whole text): place, time, commodity, involved people, or
officials. It is relevant to the understanding of the administration system to single out
which of these categories are usually considered unity factors. Memoranda should
be written immediately (even during) or shortly after the transaction and could be
distinguished from recap documents (also called “journals”), written much later on
rectangular oversized tablets. Recap tablets are made by copying and putting together
several memoranda, again according to some unity factor, usually much broader than
multiple-­issue memoranda (e.g. a period of a year). In the rare case where both the
recap tablet and one or more related memoranda are extant (e.g. PFa 29 reproducing
PF 1677, PF 1080, and PF 1011), it is useful to check if some details provided in the
memoranda are omitted in the recap (e.g. the recap tablet PFa 29 which adds detail
to the memoranda PF 1011).
Administrative documents are usually dated internally (Basello 2002; Basello
2011, §2.2.2, focused on the Persepolis Fortification tablets). The presence of regnal
year, month, and/or day is relevant to the understanding of the scope of the archive
and therefore of its function. For example, the indication of the month without year
(e.g. in the Malyan EDD tablets and in the Susa Acropolis tablets), reflects an archive
having a limited scope in time, unless the tablets were copied later in multiple-­issue
memoranda related to single years, or the tablets themselves were collected in baskets
or shelves labelled by a given year. In any case, a system which records systematically
the year also in single-­issue memoranda (e.g. the Persepolis Fortification tablets), has
to be more complex and more focused on accountability and therefore responsibility
in the administration process.
Further typologies of administrative documents are represented by written labels
(e.g. MDP 9 2 and 293) and bullae (also called “sealed anepigraphic tablets”), some
of which share the tongue shape of the Persepolis memoranda. This practice is known
also in Mesopotamia: for example, in the Nuzi archives or in the Middle Assyrian
tablets from Ashur (Garrison and Root 2001: 30, n. 88; Stein 1993: 34, n. 113). The
Neo-­Assyrian administrative documents related to textiles show string traces, too:
see especially SAA 7 93 (dated to 658 BCE) that, beside the characteristic holes at the
left corners, has the same shape as the Persepolis tablets; Mario Fales and Nicholas
Postgate remark that the text unusually runs along the longitudinal axis of the tablet
(Fales and Postgate 1992: 108, n. 93; photo on Pl. V; see also p. XXVI, “Textiles”),
which is the only direction known in the Persepolis memoranda. From Haft Tappeh,

496
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we have sealed clay envelopes which were moulded around knobs probably used to
seal doors (Ferioli and Fiandra 1979: 310–311 and Figs. 4–6).
Usually the language of an administrative corpus is technical and formulaic (see
Basello 2011, focused on the Persepolis Fortification tablets). The actual character of
a transaction or of the role of an official may be disguised in formulaic expressions,
which can rarely be understood through etymological means. Therefore, exceptions
are most relevant to understand the system, since they reveal the point at which
the formulaic language is no longer adequate to express what has to be communi-
cated (see Basello 2011, §2.4, focused on the Persepolis Fortification tablets). As an
example, one can mention the exceptional addition in tablets PF 2067 and PF 2068
(dated to the same day, 6th June 500 BCE), where the introduction of a new seal of
Parnaka is detailed. This leads us to consider the inherent presence of anomalies and
mistakes, possibly due also to frauds. Administrative systems are far from being per-
fect machines. So scholars have to take into account also their limits and deficiencies.
Rarely we have letters dealing with anomalies of the system mixed with personal
issues (see Joannés 2009 from a Mesopotamian point of view).

CONCLUDING RE M ARKS
All the corpora examined above seems to pertain to a relatively local scope, for
example, they are not concerned with the administration of far provinces. Con-
versely, the Old Akkadian tablets from Susa are related to a colonial presence main-
taining strong relationships with Mesopotamia. Unfortunately, except for some
unpublished tablets related to the international correspondence of Siwepalarhupak,
we have nothing to tell us about the branches of administration pertaining to rela-
tionships with other polities. The army seems to be represented both in Haft Tap-
peh and Susa, while cultic provisions are known from Persepolis (see Henkelman,
Chapter 39 in this volume) and temple institutions are probably mentioned in the
Susa Acropolis tablets.
The language switch from Akkadian to Elamite around 1400 BCE may be a ghost
phenomenon, that is, the result of a positivist fallacy. It is possible that other corpora
in Elamite had existed before and in Akkadian afterwards.
Even if administrative language is formulaic and metaphorical, in the case of cor-
pora in the Elamite language, it has to be paired with the study of language. This
will lead to a better understanding of the Elamite language (including morphology,
syntax, and lexicon).
It is therefore hoped that in the future:

• the publication of the Malyan, Susa, and Persepolis tablets will be completed at
least in the digital domain;
• photos (not to speak of RTI and 3D images) of most of the tablets will be avail-
able at least in the digital domain;
• an integrated study of the texts, their physical carriers (size, shape, etc.), and seal
impressions will be performed;
• quantitative and statistical studies will be carried out, especially on the Persepolis
Fortification tablets which are the most numerous corpus and are generally dated
by year;

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• clay analysis of the tablets, to be compared with samples taken in the main coeval
sites around Susa, Persepolis, and so on will be carried out. This is particularly
relevant for the Persepolis Fortification tablets, many of which were probably
fashioned and drafted outside Persepolis in local administrative centers in the
intermontane plains between Susa and Persepolis, especially the Marvdasht,
Mamasani, and Pasargadae plains;
• palaeographical analysis of the tablets, aiming at the singling out of the hands of
the scribes, will be carried out;
• comparisons (including sealing practices, text carrier size and shapes, etc.) with
Neo-­Assyrian, Neo-­Babylonian, and also Achaemenid practices in Babylonian
documents from Mesopotamia will be exploited.

From what has been discussed above, it is clear that a monolithic “Elamite adminis-
tration” or an “Elamite administrative system” or “practice” never existed. Notwith-
standing this, the relative scarcity of extant sources has prompted here a collective
treatment, hoping that in the future the interconnections between the corpora (and
therefore between the administrations) will be better outlined.

AB B REVIATIO NS
MDP 9 Administrative tablets from the Acropolis of Susa published in Scheil 1907
and also in Jusifov 1963 (according to another numbering; correspon-
dences in Jusifov 1963: 261).
MDP 11 Elamite inscriptions and tablets published in Scheil 1911.
MDP 28 Tablets published in Scheil 1939.
MDP 36 Elamite tablets published in Paper 1954.
PF Persepolis Fortification tablets published in Hallock 1969.
PFa Persepolis Fortification tablets published in Hallock 1978.
PT Persepolis Treasury tablets published in Cameron 1948.
SAA 7 Neo-­Assyrian administrative tablets published in Fales and Postgate 1992.
TTM 1 Elamite tablets (mainly administrative) from Tall-­e Malyan published in
Stolper 1984a.

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 PART VI

THE MATERIAL CULTURE

OF ELAM
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ELAMITE ARCHITECTURE

Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi

RESIDENTIAL ARCHITE CTU RE

The origin of residential architecture in Susiana goes back to prehistory, as attested
in the excavated areas at Chogha Mish (Delougaz and Kantor 1996: 30–35; Aliza-
deh 2008). Generally houses were made from mud-­brick and consisted of several
rooms. In some cases, baked-­brick was used for drainage canals or for thresholds,
although rooms usually had beaten earth floors. Compared to the scarce prehistoric
evidence, the historic era offers a large number of residential mud-­brick structures
from the sukkalmah period (c.1900–1500 BC), recovered in a vast area in the trench
A of Ville Royale at Susa by Roman Ghirshman. Although the stratigraphy of Ville
Royale does not allow for the determination of an exact dating (Carter 1979: 113), it
gives a rough indication of the chronological development of residential architecture
in this period. Earliest dwelling examples in the level A XV generally consisted of a
courtyard surrounded by rooms (Gasche 1986: Figure 3). In order to obtain more
privacy, a vestibule was usually provided which separated the inside area of the house
from the outside. This room was in fact an intermediate zone in which the doors were
not arranged on the same axis to obstruct the direct view from outer to inner part.
Indeed, the privacy of the intimate inner part of the house played an important role
in Elam almost over all periods.
For the so-­called “maison du culte” from the oldest level (A XV), Ghirshman
(1967: 7–13) determined two building stages. The arrangement of the rooms was
similar in both stages, but the spatial organization of the structure was altered by
the modification of the connections between the rooms (Figure 25.1). In both stages,
rooms 4 and 8 seem to have played an important role, due to their considerably large
size. Furthermore, they were furnished with a niche and chimney (Gasche 1986: 89).
During the first building stage, both rooms were not easy to access. In order to reach
them, one had to pass through several rooms (Figure  25.1a). This condition was
changed in the second building stage by modifying the connections in such a way that
the large room 4 could have been reached directly from the court 3 (Figure 25.1b).
It therefore obtained in this stage an “open access” character and must have been
used as an audience hall. The room 8 can be considered as the most private part of
the house. It possessed on both sides small chambers and was primarily accessible
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Figure 25.1  Schematic overview of two building stages of the “maison du culte”
in Ville Royale A XV.

through one of them (room 7). In the second stage, a doorway was built within the
large northwestern side of room 8, so that it became reachable directly from room
6. In this manner both main rooms of the house (rooms 4 and 8) came to be more
accessible.
The concept of an accessible main hall with two lateral chambers further devel-
oped over the course of time. In the posterior level A  XIV, the “maison du culte”
together with neighbouring structures were replaced by a new construction known
as the House of Rabibi (Figure 25.2a; Ghirshman 1965: 97; 1967: 5–7). It included
several courtyards and at least two entrances. The largest ingress lay on the east flank
and led to the main courtyard A through three rooms. The court was in fact a central
distribution area from which it was possible to reach other functional sections. On
the southwestern side of the courtyard lay a wide hall (no. 27) with small lateral
rooms. Its doorway was centered in the extremely thick frontal wall. Because of the
large size of the hall and its easy accessibility from the courtyard, it could be consid-
ered as the reception space of the house. A similar pattern can also be observed for
the room 12, placed close to the court C, as well as for other houses of the level XIV
(Gasche 1973: Plan 4, locus 71). The lateral chambers of the large hall were con-
nected to this room through wide doorways. Ghirshman considered these doorways
to be projections from the walls and the lateral chambers as extensions of the large
hall, named by him “salles à quatre saillants” (Ghirshman 1965).
Whether it is a hall with wall projections or it is a hall with lateral chambers, its
position, dimensions, and easy accessibility emphasize its important role in the pub-
lic life of the homeowner who most probably had a particularly high economic and
social position. His social status required a change in the structure in order to create a
suitable reception space for audience and business transactions. The lateral chambers
were used for connection to the other parts of the house.
The same scheme was realized in another large complex of the same level which
was named by the excavators as the “East Complex” (Figure  25.2b). Its “salles a
quatre saillants” or large wide hall 161 was on one hand directly accessible from the

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Figure 25.2  Schematic plan of large houses in Ville Royale A XIV and A XIII.
a: House of Rabibi in Ville Royale A XIV (after Ghirshman 1965: Figure 3);
b: “East Complex” of A XIV (after Gasche 1973: Pl. 4); c: “East Complex” of A XIII
(after Steve, Gasche and De Meyer 1980: Figure 4. Modified after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
2013: 233, n. 724 and Figure 125).

courtyard 160, and on the other hand, it was connected to other sections through
the small lateral chambers. A similar arrangement can also be observed for a smaller
variation of “salles à quatre saillants” on the southwestern side of the court 191.
During the following period of level XIII, a modification occurred in the spatial
arrangement of the house. In this period, two variations of the “salles à quatre sail-
lants” can be observed (Figure 25.2c, hall 151 and 176). One (hall 176) is similar to
those of the preceding period. The other (hall 151) was positioned together with a
series of rooms (152, 153, and 162) in the building’s back part and represents a new
form of “salles à quatre saillants” providing a secluded, intimate sector of the house.

509
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The addition of the back room series can be considered as a new form that carries
over into the next level A XII, where it is found in the “East Complex” (Steve, Gasche
and De Meyer 1980: Figure 6).
Apparently, therefore, the spatial organization of large residential buildings con-
tinued to develop from the time of level A XV to that of level A XII. In the earliest
example from level A XV, a hall with lateral chamber can be observed, which was
not accessible from the courtyard but through a series of rooms forming the most
intimate area of the house (Figure 25.3a). In the later building stage of the same level,
this hall obtained a door in the middle of its long wall and became more easily reach-
able and less closed (Figure 25.3b). This aspect is more pronounced in the following
period of level XIV. The large wide hall became accessible directly from the courtyard
and in this form was open for the public (Figure 25.3c). Thus, the wide hall developed
into an audience area and assumed a new function but on the other hand lost its inti-
macy, which had existed in the earlier period of the level XV. It is probably for this
reason that in levels XIII-XII a series of parallel rooms were added to the rear sector
of the house (Figure 25.3d). In this manner a private intimate section was created at
the back of the large hall (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 231–235).
This transformation in the spatial order of residential architecture must have been
the result of improved social contact in the sukkalmah era. At first the conception
of the main hall as an intimate private living area was of primary importance, while
later an openly accessible character played the most important role. This new func-
tion could have been effected within a process of increasing social contact accompa-
nied by the rising concentration of capital and economic power in the hands of some

Figure 25.3  Schematic variations of the main large hall in different levels in Ville Royale
at Susa. a: First stage of the “maison du culte” in VR A XV; b: Second stage of the
“maison du culte” in VR A XV; c: House of Rabibi in VR A XIV; d:
“East Complex” in VR A XIII-XII.

510
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individuals. The development reached its climax in the period of the level A XIV as
several houses were removed for the construction of the so-­called House of Rabibi,
who probably played an important economical role in the city (Ghirshman 1967:
5–7). At the same time appeared another large complex in the eastern part of the
excavated area (“East Complex”). This period can be therefore assumed to be a phase
of increasing socioeconomic differences, during which small homes were forfeited in
favor of large ones. The expansion of economic power seems to have decreased in the
following phases of the level XIII and XII. Again, small houses appeared more often,
but the concept of the reception hall with lateral chamber survived.
The House of Rabibi was replaced by a much smaller building with two court-
yards in the level A XII (Figure 25.4). It seems that the eastern court was added to the
structure at a later time. Leo Trümpelmann (1981) suggests that the house was used
in its last phase as a brothel because of several large vats presumed to have contained
beer, often containing pottery goblets, installed under the baked-­brick plaster of six
rooms. The adaptation of the building structure to this new function, however, does
not alter the fact that it had originally possessed a typical house structure with a ves-
tibule on the northeastern corner, a central courtyard which led to a main reception
hall (no. 35) with lateral chambers and an intimate private section in the back part.
For the subsequent Middle Elamite period, we know nothing about the inhabited
structures at Susa. Only a few residential buildings are attested at Chogha Zanbil,

Figure 25.4  Building in the level A XII in Ville Royale at Susa (after Steve,
Gasche and De Meyer 1980: Figure 6).

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where Ghirshman discovered two large mud-­brick constructions in the eastern part
of the city that he referred to as Palaces 2 and 3 (Ghirshman 1968: 47–92). Com-
pared to the monumental complexes at Haft Tappeh or the palace at Dur-­Kurigalzu
in Babylonia (Heinrich 1984: 89–91), they were built on a much smaller scale and
were less suited to receiving an audience. Their identification as palaces is vague,
especially considering that there is no evidence for different functional sectors of a
palace, such as the throne hall, or administrative and economic sections. It seems that
these constructions were planned as temporary accommodation for the royal family
and not as their permanent residential palace. The spatial order of both buildings
seems at first glance to be similar, but in fact important differences can be observed.
The only feature they have in common is that both consisted of two or three similar
rectangular sections with a central courtyard around which rooms were arranged.
The structure of the so-­called Palace 2 is no longer preserved in its entirety. Three
square courtyards could be identified, arranged close to each other in an L-shape.
The preserved remains of some rooms permit a general reconstruction (Figure 25.5a;
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 218–221). These rooms were situated in two rows on all
sides of each courtyard. The main entrance lay in the east corner of the section I which
led to a passage (no. 11), from which it was possible to reach every courtyard. The
surrounding rooms of the courtyards were divided into different closed units. The
unit comprising rooms 6–8 was well preserved on the southeastern side of section
I. Accessible from the courtyard, it can be considered an independent dwelling com-
posed of a large hall and two small lateral chambers. Apart from this dwelling with
three rooms, there were also variations with four (no. 20–23) or even more rooms.
Although the three courtyard sections were connected, it seems that the surrounding
dwellings were not linked to each other. This would mean that the sections I-III were in
contact, but several independent domiciles were provided. This planning aspect reflects
the functional feature of the construction and gives an insight into the social relation-
ship of those who used it. The layout seems to have been intended for an extended
family consisting of three main groups, each with several family nucleuses.
The so-­called Palace 3 consisted of two similar square sections with a central
courtyard (Figure 25.5b), which in contrast to those of Palace 2 were not connected
to each other, instead being accessible separately from the outside. Their doorways
(nos. 7 and 19) were not oriented out towards the city area, but lay on the southeast-
ern side facing the city wall (see Figure 12.4 this volume). Every section was provided
with identical dwellings consisting of four rooms. Analogous to Palace 2, they had a
wide hall directly accessible from the courtyard and two small lateral chambers. One
of the chambers could be identified as a kitchen due to the installation of a hearth.
In contrast to Palace 2, every dwelling was furnished with a bathroom containing a
basin, positioned behind the kitchen.
Apart of the four-­room dwellings there was a larger variation with five rooms
arranged in two rows in section I (Figure 25.5b). From the courtyard it was possible
to enter the wide hall (no. 9) which was connected with the kitchen (no. 8) and the
bathroom (no. 12) on its sides, and with another wide hall (no. 11) through two
doorways at the back. This hall (no. 11) was linked to a small chamber (no. 31).
The doorways between the halls 9 and 11 were not situated on the same axis as the
entrance from the courtyard, so it was not possible to have any visual contact from
outside into the hall 11, giving more privacy in this backward part of the dwelling.

512
 Figure 25.5  Palaces at Chogha Zanbil; a: The reconstruction of the
Palace 2 and preserved dwelling on the southeast of the courtyard I
(after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: Figs. 114–115); b: The ground plan of the
Palace 3 at Chogha Zanbil (after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a: Figure 15).
 — B e h z a d M o f i d i - ­N a s r a b a d i —

To summarize, Palace 3 consisted of eight independent domiciles, seven of which

have an identical ground plan. The main wide hall can be considered as a living and
audience area, which on one side was linked to a kitchen as well as a bath and on the
other side was connected to a small chamber, probably a bedroom. A single domicile
with five rooms also had a similar structure, differing only in that it incorporated two
wide halls instead of one. The first, with its entrance from the courtyard, must have
been an audience hall. The second, situated behind, was a private living room associ-
ated with the small bedchamber.
These features suggest that the seven identical, but unconnected, dwellings were
planned for individuals who were of equal status but not socially associated to each
other. Most likely the dwellings were the domicile of different spouses of the king
for the period in which the royal court resided in the city. The larger residence in the
middle of the construction could have belonged to the main wife. The arrangement
of the building entrances prevented viewing from the outside.
The differences between structures of the Palaces 2 and 3 reflect their different
functional characters (Mofidi-­ Nasrabadi 2013: 223–230). However, common to
every dwelling of both constructions was a main wide hall, accessible from the court-
yard via a central doorway, used as a living and audience room. The above-­discussed
scheme reveals a continuity of architectural planning with the sukkalmah period at
Susa. Also the larger domicile variation in the Palace 3 is comparable with the late
sukkalmah period example in which the large audience hall was associated with
other rear rooms (Figure 25.3d). Thus the domestic space organization in the Middle
Elamite period seems to maintain the tradition of the sukkalmah era.
This tradition can be observed likewise in the simple residential structures made by
inhabitants, in which the large living room was connected to the courtyard and pos-
sessed two lateral chambers. In the north part of the city Ghirshman (1968: 93–95)
discovered remains of mud-­brick houses which, based on their ceramics, belong to
the period of the city’s foundation (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 47). Their wide living
room and two adjacent chambers are well preserved (e.g. Figure 25.6a). Even in the
considerably younger domiciles from the beginning of the 1st millennium BC built
in the holy district of the middle wall (Figure 25.6b), the same scheme of wide living
room (no. 4) with small lateral rooms (nos. 1 and 10) is present in a simplified form
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 50–52).
Indeed, some aspects of residential architecture remained almost unchanged for a
long period of time. Structural house components like the vestibule as intermediate
area, the courtyard as a distribution space, and the large wide hall as a living and
audience area can be observed in the excavated domiciles of Elam over the whole 2nd
millennium until the beginning of the 1st millennium BC.

PUB LIC ARCH ITE CTU RE

From the early era of Elamite history little is known about public constructions.
The eldest well-­known examples with administrative character belong to the Mid-
dle Elamite period. The earliest of these is a mud-­brick construction excavated at
Haft Tappeh dated to the ME I  period (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010: 19–22). Judging
by the burnt roof beams and layers of ash found on the pavement of the rooms, it
was destroyed by fire. Its complete structure remains unidentified (Figure 25.7). The

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Figure 25.6  Houses at Chogha Zanbil from a: the ME II period

(after Ghirshman 1968: Figure 36); and b: the beginning of the 1st millennium
(after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: Figure 12).

recovered area included a large square courtyard (no. 3), on the northwestern side of
which is a rectangular room used as a workplace of scribes (no. 1). It was paved with
mud-­brick and provided with a small canal to channel water used for producing clay
tablets (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b). The adjacent room 2 was not well preserved due
to the intrusion of several burials after the devastation of the building.
In the southern section of the construction, three long rooms were situated parallel
to each other (nos. 6, 9, 12). They formed a section that was difficult to access, so that
one had to pass from the courtyard first through the room 4 in order to reach a row
of small chambers. From there it was possible to pass through the anterooms 5, 8, 11
and enter the long rooms 6, 9, 12, respectively. Small pieces of gold-­plate in room 12
indicate these long rooms were most likely used for storage of valuable objects. This
section was separated from the northeastern part through two long rooms (14–15)
situated in a row like a corridor. Another room (no. 17) on the northeastern side,
furnished with red painted wall plaster, was accessible through the anteroom 16 from
the courtyard. Room 17 may also have been a storage area with its anteroom 16.
From a functional and structural point of view, the building was organized in two
parts; namely, a work space for the scribes including room 1 as well as the courtyard
3 on the northern side, and a storage section consisting of several long rooms that
were difficult to access.
A second example of public architecture is exhibited at Tall-­e Malyan (ancient
Anshan). According to textual finds, it was in use during the last phase of the Middle
Elamite period (Stolper 1984; Carter 1996). The construction is only partly exca-
vated, showing a rectangular courtyard surrounded by several rooms (Figure 25.8).

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Figure 25.7  Administration building from the second building level (ME I)
at Haft Tappeh (after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014: Taf. 2).

On two sides were situated wide rooms with lateral chambers, which show similarity
to the central wide halls of dwellings in the palaces at Chogha Zanbil. Therefore,
Elizabeth Carter suggested a symmetrical reconstruction for the whole structure sim-
ilar to the ground plan of the Palace 3 at Chogha Zanbil (Carter 1996: Figure 16).
It must be noted that there is no indication of domicile usage of the building as was
the case in the palaces of Chogha Zanbil. Since the functional aspect was a significant
factor for the formation of the structure, the assumed imitation of the plan of Palace
3 can be considered as highly speculative. Many of the cuneiform tablets recovered
at Malyan mention different metals, like gold, silver, copper, and tin, generally as

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Figure 25.8  Public construction from the ME III period at Tall-­e Malyan
(after Carter 1996: Figure 16).

raw metal or as artefacts which were received or delivered (Stolper 1984). A large
number of tablets were impressed with the same seal, indicating that the transfer
of material must have taken place within a centralized administrative organization.
Most probably the construction was used for reception, storage, and redistribution of
resources as suggested by Carter (1996: 49). It is therefore possible that storerooms
with restricted access, similar to those in the administration building at Haft Tappeh,
had existed in the uncovered part of the building. Furthermore, since both raw metals
as well as finished products are mentioned in the texts, it can be assumed that the
building was in relationship with a metal workshop.

F ORTIFICATIO NS
Even though not completely investigated, Tall-­e Malyan (ancient Anshan) in the prov-
ince of Fars provides evidence for a walled city in the early history of Elam (Sumner
1985). The earliest known Elamite fortification in Susiana dating to the sukkalmah
period was partially excavated at Chogha Mish. The 8–11-m-­thick mud-­brick wall

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(Delougaz and Kantor 1996: 18; Alizadeh 2008: 34, Pls. 1B and 2) incorporated a
gate building consisting of a square-­shaped chamber (Alizadeh 2008: Figs. 8 and 10).
On the northwestern side of the gate chamber lay a stairway leading to the top of the
wall. Two tower-­like projections flanked the entry.
The three wall constructions at Chogha Zanbil deliver the best excavated exam-
ples for Elamite fortification architecture. The outer wall was about 4.6 m thick and
surrounded the whole city area, while the middle wall with a thickness of 4.8–5 m
enclosed the holy district and separated it from the profane area. The inner wall
encircling the ziqqurrat within the holy district was 2.4 m thick. All three walls were
built from mud-­brick and furnished with wall projections (see Figure 12.4 this vol-
ume). The fortifying aspect is emphasized by rectangular towers on the outside face
of the middle and outer walls. All three walls had vertical drainage canals which
were placed about 50 cm behind the wall surface. This led to the assumption that on
top of the wall a 40–50-cm-­thick balustrade existed with the openings of the canals
situated at its foot. According to depicted fortifications and terracotta tower models
found at Chogha Zanbil, such a balustrade must have been crenellated (Mielke 2011:
Figure 3; Bleibtreu 1994; Porada 1967; Ghirshman 1968: Figs. 7–8).
Every wall was provided with several gates; their characteristic feature was pri-
marily the presence of towers flanking the gateway. At Chogha Zanbil, two types
of gate can be distinguished. The first type includes monumental gates, furnished
with towers on each side of the inner and outer gateways (Figure 25.9a). Based on
depicted fortifications the towers were higher than the wall. Through a stairway in
the gate chamber, it was possible to reach the top of the walls and the towers. The
second gate type is a small variation in which generally only two towers on the out-
side existed (Figure 25.9b). In its chamber there was no stairway. This type must have
been planned for everyday use, while the monumental variation seems to be part of
the ritual path, used only in particular festivities (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 259–304).
Features of the middle wall as well as particular architectonic details of its south-
eastern gate allow the calculation of its height as 9.87–10.08  m. Since the towers

Figure 25.9  Two gate variations at Chogha Zanbil.

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of the gate were surely higher than the wall, their height inclusive of the balustrade
could have reached about 14 m (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 278–283).
An insight into the construction of the gate in the exterior wall is given by the only
excavated example, situated in the east corner. It did not lead directly into the city
area; one had to first enter through a monumental gate into a large square building
with a central courtyard and then exit through a second monumental gate (Ghirsh-
man 1968: 87–89). This building formed an intermediate zone connecting the outside
and inside of the city (see Figure 12.4 this volume). The inclination of the stairway
in the gate chamber lets us assume that the top of the wall could have reached over
9  m (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 296–300). Certainly the towers together with their
balustrade were even higher.

FUNERARY CON S TRU CTIO NS

Some of the most interesting and mysterious constructions in Elam are the mud-­
brick buildings with baked-­brick underground tombs planned as burial places for
deceased individuals of the elite. The buildings were also used for carrying out regu-
lar, periodic mortuary rituals. Two such constructions are preserved from the Middle
Elamite period: one excavated at Haft Tappeh (Negahban 1991: 12–15) and another
at Chogha Zanbil (Ghirshman 1968: 47–74). These cannot be considered as palaces
or temples as is suggested by some scholars, because there is no textual or archaeolog-
ical indication for such assumption (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a; Potts 2016: 184–186).
The ground plans of both constructions show a particular spatial organization that
obviously should go back to the functional aspects of their structures.
The tomb building at Haft Tappeh is the older of the two, belonging most likely
to the building level III from the ME I phase (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012c: 86, 98–99).
This long rectangular building with strong mud-­brick walls was situated in the north
part of the city (Figure 25.10a). A small doorway on its southwestern side led to a
vestibule (no. 1). From there it was possible to reach a large courtyard (no. 2) paved
with several rows of baked-­bricks. Close to the vestibule was a small chamber (no.
3), maybe a storeroom or a stairway leading to the roof. In the middle of the court-
yard was placed a large rectangular pedestal of baked-­brick, while a podium lay
along the northeastern wall flanking a central doorway leading to a wide room (no.
4). From this room one could reach the rear part of the construction, consisting of
two long parallel rooms, each furnished with an underground tomb at its rear. Both
tombs were made from baked-­brick and had a vaulted roof. One was larger and
had a broad platform divided into three parts by small walls. Most probably these
sectioned spaces were intended for the burials of different members of an extended
family as was common in many regions of the ancient Near East. Thus the tomb can
be considered as a typical funerary construction. The deposition of at least 21 skele-
tons indicates that the tomb was used several times. The bones of earlier periods were
amassed on the floor close to the entrance in order to make place for new interments
on top of the platform. The suggestion of Negahban that the construction must have
been the tomb of the king Tepti-­ahar is highly speculative, because no direct evidence
for a royal mausoleum can be distinguished (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2003–04: 231–232).
In the smaller second tomb, 23 individuals were buried at the same time. In con-
trast to the larger tomb, it had no doorway and its floor was plastered with large

519
Figure 25.10  Tomb buildings from the Middle Elamite period.
a: Haft Tappeh (modified after Negahban 1991: Pls. 3–4);
b: Chogha Zanbil, underground tombs are marked in grey (after
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: Figure 131).
 — Architecture —

irregular pieces of gypsum slabs. Remarkably, there was another similar plastered
pavement about 20 cm deeper, separated from the upper one by a layer of sandy soil
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012c: 86–88).
Although the construction had a simple ground plan with only a small number of
rooms, it included three functional sections (Figure 25.12). The vestibule together with
the large courtyard and the small chamber on its southern corner formed a public
section which gave ample space for the gathering of numerous people who could have
participated in mortuary practices. This public area was connected to the rear tomb by
means of a wide intermediate room. Lateral to the entrance of this room, the podium
on the northeastern wall of the courtyard probably played a practical role in rituals. On
the other hand, the wide room had the specific function of hindering direct access to the
tombs. The public courtyard as the sphere of the living was separated from the tomb
section belonging to afterlife by this intermediate room. In general, the spiritual link
between the living world and the underworld can be realized by carrying out rituals
which in both spiritual thinking and in conception of spatial order have an intermedi-
ate position. In other words, the action space of this world must have been connected
to the underworld through an intermediary space where the rituals took place.
A similar functional combination can be observed also for the second series of Mid-
dle Elamite funerary buildings excavated at Chogha Zanbil (Figs. 25.10 and 25.12).
Compared to the tomb building at Haft Tappeh, the structure at Chogha Zanbil was
much more complex. The public section consisted of two parts, one including court-
yard A and the other courtyard B. On one side of the vestibule (no. 6) lay the court-
yard B, surrounded by three rooms and a kitchen (no. 4) which apparently formed
a private dwelling, most probably belonging to the caretaker of the building. On the
other side it was possible to enter the large courtyard A flanked by two long halls
(no. 1 and 5). This courtyard occupied a large part of the construction and offered
sufficient space for the participants in mortuary practices.
The tomb section also included two parts. One could be reached through the room
13 where a pithos containing a goblet was found, maybe used for washing rituals
before entering. The second part was situated behind the long hall 7 which possessed
15 small pedestals. This hall had three doorways. In front of the western door lay
also a pithos with a goblet, similar to that in the room 13 (Figure 25.11). Most likely
it was necessary to carry out a purification ritual before entering the tomb areas. The
arrangement of the three doorways as well as the pithos and the pedestals in hall 7
allows for the reconstruction of a path that must have been passed during a ceremony
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 236–254).
The constructions at both Haft Tappeh and Chogha Zanbil reflect the notion of a
separation between this world and the sphere of the dead, which can be linked only
by ritual acts (Figure 25.12). Therefore, both tomb buildings were provided with a
ritual section for mortuary practices which took an intermediate spatial position in
the constructions.

SACRED ARCH ITE CTU RE

For sacred architecture from the early era of Elamite history, only some partly recov-
ered structures are known. However, the Middle Elamite period supplies us with

521
 Figure 25.11  Reconstruction of the path taken during the mortuary ceremony
(after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: Figure 136).

Figure 25.12  Spatial order of the Middle Elamite tomb buildings and the mythological
relationship of their different sections (after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a: Figs. 17–18).
 — Architecture —

more details on this topic. Among the monumental complexes at Haft Tappeh built at
the beginning of the Middle Elamite period, some were provided with large terraces
of mud-­brick (see Fig 12.3 this volume). Fragments of painted gypsum plaster with
geometrical designs were found in the rooms close to the so-­called terrace I (Negah-
ban 1991: 16; Álvarez-­Mon 2005). New fragments came to light during the last exca-
vation season in 2012. Even if the building possessed no inscribed bricks designating
it as a sanctuary, it is highly probable that the terrace was the platform for a temple
as was common in this period (e.g. at Dur-­kurigalzu, Heinrich 1982: 224–225, Figs.
302–303). In the textual sources of Haft Tappeh, some temples are mentioned, one of
them named É.KUR (mountain-­like house), which could have been an indication of
a monumental building situated on a terrace (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2003–04: 236–237).
In contrast to Haft Tappeh, the temples at Chogha Zanbil (ancient Al-­Untash-­
Napirisha), all built by Untash-­Napirisha, were normally furnished with inscribed
bricks describing the royal dedication (Ghirshman 1966; 1968; Steve 1967). The new
foundation of Choga Zanbil was supplied with a large enclosed holy complex in the
center of the city (Potts 2010: 60–64; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 69–71). It was dis-
tinctly separated from the residential part of the city by a large wall. This differs from
the Mesopotamian new foundations like Kar-­Tukulti-­Ninurta and Dur-­Sharrukin in
which the temples and palaces were situated together in the same sector (Novák
1997). The whole city was divided into concentric areas defined by three walls. The
outer area, enclosed by an approximately 4 km long external wall, was planned for
habitation, while the area between the middle and inner walls was intended for the
deities. The area inside the 2.4 m thick inner wall was the most sacred part of the city
belonging to the most important sacral construction, namely, the ziqqurrat, dedicated
to the main gods of the empire, Inshushinak and Napirisha. This spatial separation
reflected an understanding of mythological space in a hierarchical form, with the
most important divinities placed on its top.
In order to implement the city ground plan in the field, the architects used geo-
metric and mathematic formulas, taking the ziqqurrat and its location as the point of
reference. It was positioned on a plateau situated about 40 m above the river plain
to enable viewing of the ziqqurrat from afar. After marking out the ground plan of
the ziqqurrat in the field, a distance double the ziqqurrat length was measured from
the middle point of its southeastern side in the direction of the sunrise on New Year’s
Day. This assigned a point, where consequently a tower was built named Nur kibrat
(“light of the world”; Steve 1967: no. 21). It determined also the position of the mid-
dle wall which was constructed parallel to the ziqqurrat (Figure 25.13a). In this man-
ner a point was selected to mark the southeastern position of the surrounding wall as
well as the position of the sunrise on New Year’s morning, which played a major role
in the yearly sunrise ritual sit shamshi (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 263–267, 287–291).
The dimensions of the middle wall sides seem to have been measured according to
a unit which equaled the distance between the tower Nur kibrat and the gates on both
of its sides (Figure 25.13b). Although a rectangular shape was planned for this holy
area, deep gullies on the northern and southern parts meant that an exact quadran-
gular form could not be achieved (for details see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 275–277,
291–296, 313–319).
The ziqqurrat as the most important building must have been constructed at the
city’s foundation. Ghirshman distinguished two building stages (Ghirshman 1966:

523
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Figure 25.13  Planning aspects of the middle wall area. a: The relationship of the
tower Nur kibrat to the ziqqurrat in the planning of the middle wall; b: The dimensions
of the different sides of the middle wall.

38–45). In the first stage the ziqqurrat consisted of a square building with a large cen-
tral courtyard including two temples for Inshushinak named by Ghirshman temple
A and B on its southeastern tract. On the other sides of the courtyard, storerooms
were arranged. In the second building stage, the central courtyard was filled with

524
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mud-­bricks in order to build the ziqqurrat terraces (Figure  25.14). In this manner
the roof of the earlier building became the surface of the first terrace and the upper
terraces were constructed within the courtyard. Subsequently, the doors of the temple
A as well as of the storerooms in the previous courtyard were blocked. The temple
A remained out of use, while the storerooms continued to be used by opening new
entrances in their ceilings, so that it was possible to reach them from the surface of the
first terrace via a stairway. Eventually the whole mud-­brick structure of the ziqqurrat
was provided with a baked-­brick mantel and decorative elements like glazed bricks.
Furthermore, wall knobs were added to the terrace façades (Basello 2012: 6–11).
For structural reasons, the mud-­brick core of every terrace was built separately,
resulting in a vertical split between them. Ghirshman was able to identify these splits
and discern that the ziqqurrat originally possessed four terraces with a high temple
on the top (Ghirshman 1966: 36–38, 58–61). It was therefore possible to distinguish
the dimensions of the different terraces.
At first sight, it seems that the dimensions of the ziqqurrat terraces were chosen
arbitrarily, but recent research shows that they were selected based on a sexagesimal
rule system. The measurement unit for the constructions was the square mud-­brick
which together with the mortar was about 43 cm long. The mud-­brick cores of the
first and the second terraces were 216 and 144 bricks long, respectively. Interestingly
both numbers can be divided by 6. Taking other terraces into consideration, the brick
numbers of all parts divided by 6 resulted in the following scheme (for more details
see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 98–108; 2015: 37–42):

Terrace 1 216 bricks (36 × 6 or 6 × 6 × 6)

Terrace 2 144 bricks (24 × 6 or 4 × 6 × 6)
Terrace 3 108 bricks (18 × 6 or 3 × 6 × 6)
Terrace 4 72 bricks (12 × 6 or 2 × 6 × 6)
High temple 36 bricks (6 × 6 or 1 × 6 × 6)

Figure 25.14  Two building stages of the ziqqurrat at Chogha Zanbil

(after Ghirshman 1966: Figs. 27 and 29).

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In summary, three functional sections can be distinguished for the whole structure.
The first terrace accommodated the storerooms and was reachable from all four sides
of the ziqqurrat. In contrast, the high temple on top was the holy section which
could be accessed only from the southwestern side via a stairway. The third section
included the temple B of Inshushinak in the southeastern wing of the ziqqurrat and
was easily accessible directly from the outside. Since the main temple of Inshushinak
was elevated atop the ziqqurrat, temple B was probably used for festivities. A podium
in front of its door offered the possibility of placing the divine statue in a manner
allowing a large number of people to observe the ritual action from outside.
The connection and mode of accessibility to the sacred space played an important
role at Chogha Zanbil. Several temples were excavated in the holy area (see ­Figure 12.4
this volume). Two sanctuaries, one dedicated to Ishmeqarab and the other to Kiririsha,
were situated close to the ziqqurrat on its northwestern side and entered from the area
inside the inner wall (Ghirshman 1966: 85–104). Another temple was built for Napir-
isha nearby, but outside of the inner wall. At a distance of about 90 m towards the
north, just inside the middle wall, was placed a sanctuary dedicated to Hishmitik and
Ruhuratir consisting of two separate sections. In the eastern corner lay a complex of
four more temples (Figure 25.15b), three of which had similar ground plans. The first
was dedicated to Pinigir, the second to Adad and his spouse Shala, and the third to Shi-
mut und his spouse Belet-­ali (Ghirshman 1968: 9–21). Next to the latter was the fourth
temple for a group of gods named Napratep. It contained four chapels, each furnished
with two podiums for divine statues, indicating that a group of four divine pairs was
worshipped here. Two square buildings close to the southeastern and western gates of
the inner wall were made from mud-­brick but lacked any inscribed bricks to facilitate
identification. Because of their spatial order and structure, they could also have been
sanctuaries as suggested by Ghirshman (1966: 105–107).
Outside the holy area, a structure at about 500 m distance on the southeastern side
of the ziqqurrat was identified as a sanctuary for Nusku (Ghirshman 1968: 84–87).
This suggestion is based on some inscribed bricks found in its debris (Steve 1967:
nos. 23–24). On the other hand, several inscribed bricks dedicated to Nusku lay in
the holy district of the middle wall (Steve 1967: no. 43). Taking into account that
existing baked-­bricks in the city area were reused in the later periods, it is also possi-
ble that the inscribed bricks found near the construction were transported there later.
The identification of the structure as a temple for Nusku therefore remains uncertain.
The temples of Inshushinak, Kiririsha, and Ishmeqarab were arranged together
with the ziqqurrat in the area of the inner wall (see Figure 12.4 this volume) and all
must have been planned and constructed at the very beginning of the building activ-
ities in the city. The structure of these temples was completely different to those built
shortly afterwards in the eastern corner of the middle wall, meaning that two distinct
temple categories can be recognized (Figure 25.15).
The structures of the two different temple types indicate that a change in acces-
sibility to the cella took place. In the earliest form observed in the temples of Kiriri-
sha, Napirisha, and Ishmeqarab (Figure 25.15a), the rooms and the doorways were
organized so that the cella was an isolated, protected place reachable only by pass-
ing through several rooms. Generally, a vestibule led to the courtyard from where
it was possible to reach an antecella and then the cella, the well-­protected main
domicile of the deity with a podium for the divine statue. The whole construction

526
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Figure 25.15  Different temple types at Chogha Zanbil.

a: The temples on the northwestern side of the ziqqurrat;
b: The complex in the eastern corner of the middle wall.

was intentionally planned to make the cella difficult to access, giving an introverted
character to the structure. This characteristic changed over the course of some years
during the city foundation, as can be observed in the four-­temple complex in the east-
ern corner of the middle wall area. The ground plan of these sanctuaries represents a

527
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totally different concept of spatial order (Figure 25.15b). The vestibule (no. 1) pos-
sessed two large doors which were both placed on the same axis leading to the court-
yard (no. 2). This eliminated the function of the vestibule in shielding the interior
from the outsider viewer. The cella (no. 8) with the podium for the deities was placed
in the middle of the courtyard and furnished with a back storeroom. There was no
antecella in order to protect the privacy of the cella. The statue of the divinities could
have been viewed through the wide doorway even from the outside.
The modification of the sacred structure from a sanctuary with particularly pro-
tected and isolated cella to the temple type with an easy accessible chapel seems to be
associated with the change in usage of the temples. Traditionally, Elamite sanctuaries
were protected and not easily accessible. An understanding of isolated sacral space
initially lay behind the structure of the sanctuaries as well as the foundation of the
holy area, which was provided with a monumental wall separated from the rest of the
city. On the other hand, this was contradictory to the fact that the new foundation
and its monumental buildings must have been displayed as important deeds of the
king Untash-­Napirisha. His extraordinary undertaking must certainly have attracted
worshipers, raising public participation in religious ceremonies. Thus came into being
a social dynamic that required a new appropriate form of sacral architecture provid-
ing greater possibilities for religious communication. This may have been the reason
underlying the development from an introverted temple type to an extroverted type
within some decades of the city’s foundation.
Because of a lack of sanctuary examples from later periods, it cannot be concluded
whether the new temple type was transmitted more broadly within Elam or remained
an exception realized only at Chogha Zanbil for a short time. Textual sources provide
indications that the traditional introverted type with a less accessible cella must have
been used even in the Neo-­Elamite period. In the inscriptions of the Neo-­Assyrian
king Assurbanipal, Inshushinak is characterized as the god who lives hidden, so that
nobody is able to view his divine presence (Streck 1916: 53).

B IB LIOGRAP HY
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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

ELAMITE CERAMICS

Bernadette K. McCall

INTRODU CTIO N
Elamite ceramics is the encompassing term applied to the mainly plain but occasion-
ally painted wares that would come to dominate the archaeological assemblages of
south-­western Iran during the 2nd millennium and into the first half of the 1st mil-
lennium BC (Carter 1992). Defined in geographical terms as a territorial range incor-
porating highland and lowland zones that take in a large part of what is now western
and south-­western Iran (see Potts 2016: 14–ff.), the discussion of ceramics will focus
on the better known material culture of the Susiana and surrounding plains leading
into the Zagros Mountains. Carter (1984: 103) described a ‘loose unity of material
culture’ focused around the political capitals of Elam, from Susa, the lowland centre,
through to the highland capital of Anshan, Tal-­e Malyan, in Fars province. Elamite
ceramics are best documented at Susa and at sites and regions extending into the
Zagros Mountains from Khuzestan to Fars (Carter 1971; Gasche 1973; Miroschedji
1981a, 1981b; Carter 1984: 144–ff.; 163–ff.; 1992: 294 for overviews), but renewed
investigations in south-­western Iran in more recent years warrant the present updated
review (see Potts 2016 for overview).
Considerable research has been undertaken on Elamite ceramics, including com-
prehensive regional studies, but for reasons often as simple as limited access to sites
and assemblages, there is still much to be explored. This chapter cannot claim to be
exhaustive in terms of archaeological evidence, nor in thematic coverage, but the
aims are to synthesise current scholarship, highlight potential avenues to pursue and
encourage innovative approaches to future research. The goal is to introduce the
main source materials for studying Elamite period ceramics, as a starting point for
future research in the field, and to acquaint readers with the different resources avail-
able, and their critical application, as new data has been made available. It is impossi-
ble to present a comprehensive assessment of all scholarship for this volume. Instead,
the chapter will provide an overview of the most relevant sources that characterise
Elamite ceramics, document the distribution and composition of major assemblages,
highlight the main phase markers and chronological developments in the wares. As
a consequence, the chapter will also trace the ways in which research in this field has

531
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developed and help identify areas which would benefit from further research. In most
instances, it will be necessary to provide much-­abbreviated summaries of available
data underpinning the study of Elamite ceramics, without the level of detail or illus-
trations present in the original studies; these works should also be consulted to fully
understand the major developments in this field, occasional gaps in our knowledge,
or omissions of detail from original excavators that by necessity can escape overviews
such as this one.
Given the cautionary remarks regarding the use of Elam as a toponym to describe
the Zagros foothills and highlands east of Mesopotamia, and the extension of this
to the presumably heterogeneous past populations that occupied the region and
their associated cultural materials (see Potts 2016: 9–12; Álvarez-­Mon 2012), it is
appropriate to begin the discussion of Elamite ceramics with a similar caveat about
the application of such a broad, externally assigned term to the ceramics from this
region. By at least the mid-­third millennium BC, the name Elam is attested from
Mesopotamian sources to describe the lands to the east into the Zagros highlands,
yet tracing the historical development of Elam through the third millennium, we are
confronted with complex political and economic relationships within and beyond
the Elamite realm (see Álvarez-­Mon 2012; Potts 2016: 145–148; Stolper 1984). This
complexity, coupled with internal social groupings and alliances, and the potential
for transference of material traits across an extensive political network, makes it diffi-
cult, but not impossible, to define what is meant by the ceramics of Elam as a cohesive
cultural assemblage, particularly during its early phases (Potts 2016: 145).
While the historical evidence supports the existence of Elam and Elamites as a
political and cultural entity earlier in the 3rd millennium BC, the archaeological
character and location for the earliest Elamite phases remain elusive. At Susa, where
the most complete sequences covering the period have been uncovered, Mesopota-
mian traits dominate the material record, and in the period immediately before the
2nd millennium BC, material assemblages are further complicated by evidence of
widespread external contacts (Potts 2016: 79–ff.; 111; Carter 1984: 133–135). The
necessary focus on the Susa sequences, combined with the highly regional nature of
Zagros Mountains material assemblages makes it difficult to understand the origins
and early development of Elamite ceramics. It is not until the early 2nd millennium
BC that materials identifiable as Elamite appear in archaeological assemblages, when
Elam was under the control of the Shimashki dynasty (Carter 1984: 144).

BACKGROUND TO THE
ARCHAEOLOGICA L   RE S O U RCE S
Although not the earliest research undertaken on Elamite ceramics, two quite dif-
ferent yet complementary studies appeared in the early 1970s that have become the
main foundation works in this field (Carter 1971; Gasche 1973). Drawing on data-
sets that varied in their scope and methodological basis, they provided the main
starting point for future research. The first, a comprehensive study of Elamite ceram-
ics carried out by Elizabeth Carter (1971) was based on regional excavations and
survey data from Khuzestan, Ram Hormuz and Deh Luran. The study established
chronological divisions within Elamite assemblages based on ceramic markers, which
were used to reconstruct patterns of Elamite settlement over the 2nd millennium BC.

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This was followed by Herman Gasche’s (1973) publication of Elamite ceramics from
Susa, synthesising two decades of excavations at the Ville Royale mound. Gasche’s
work recreated an archaeological sequence spanning the second millennium BC from
two discrete areas, Chantiers A and B. The finds were linked stratigraphically to the
limited published data then available from other Elamite sites, Choga Zanbil, Haft
Tepe, Tepe Farukhabad and Tal-­i Ghazir. The study produced a comprehensive and
stratified typology of vessel forms from two urban exposures at Susa, but one which
Gasche noted was not without problems given the nature of the data and the poten-
tial for intrusive materials in different excavation strata (Gasche 1973: 7–8).
Gasche’s classification of Elamite ceramics has provided an enduring typological
framework which was considered at the time to represent an unbroken stratigraphic
sequence for the period. As further regional excavation sequences became available,
Carter (1979) re-­evaluated the stratigraphy and dating assigned to Susa A  and B
levels, suggesting there was greater complexity in the mostly arbitrary archaeological
‘levels’ assigned, and noted interruptions in the sequence (Carter 1979: Table 26.1).
However, many of the points raised were addressed soon after on the basis of dated
textual and other historical evidence in support of the original phasing (Steve et al.
1980: 78). At this stage, the available Haft Tepe material was still to be published,
study of the Middle Elamite/Qaleh phase at Anshan in Fars was incomplete (see Car-
ter 1996) and the Neo-­Elamite phase was largely unknown. Subsequent excavations
at Susa, Ville Royale II, provided a more complete picture of the ceramics from the
later Middle and Neo-­Elamite phases with a sequence continuing into levels of the
Achaemenid period (Miroschedji 1981a).
A comprehensive synthesis of the material cultures found across the Elamite world
followed, incorporating what was then known of the contemporary highland and
lowland regions and including the Neo-­Elamite finds from Susa (Carter 1984). More
specifically focusing on ceramics of the second millennium, a further overview sum-
marised Elamite phase markers, correlating the Sukkalmah to Middle Elamite phases
with contemporary Kaftari to Qaleh material assemblages from the highlands (Carter
1992). This later review incorporated Carter’s own more detailed analysis of the later
Middle Elamite finds from highland Tal-­e Malyan (Anshan), unpublished at the time
(appearing in Carter 1996), based on data obtained before the 1980s, but not extend-
ing into the Neo-­Elamite phases. In light of a renewal of archaeological research and
excavations in Iran, a re-­examination of research into Elamite ceramics is timely, as
new and legacy data from fieldwork undertaken in decades past are published, along
with current research questions and methodologies that are driving these studies
(Wright and Carter 2003; Potts et al. 2009, Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007, 2014a, 2014b;
Carter and Wright 2010; Alizadeh et al. 2014, for example).

ARCHAEOLOGICAL P HAS ING AND

MAIN ASSEMB L AG E S
Elamite ceramics and material culture are now generally divided into four main
phases: Shimashki, Sukkalmah, Middle Elamite and Neo-­Elamite (see Potts 2016).
Some variation and further subdivision exists within this framework, particularly
from older publications (see Carter 1979, 1984, Gasche 1973, for example), but these
standardised terms are retained here to minimise further confusion and avoid the

533
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complexity of regional sequences or site-­specific terminology. While broadly based on

historical events, these archaeological phases were initially defined to help understand
changes in a long and continuous Elamite ceramic sequence (Carter 1971, 1979).
Devised on the basis of ceramic typology, the phases were not meant to directly
correlate with historical or political changes, and initially included a ‘Transitional’
phase in the middle of the sequence (Carter 1971, 1984: 144–145). This Transitional
phase has since been incorporated into the early Middle Elamite phase, but the sim-
ilarities in ceramics between this and the preceding Sukkalmah phase highlight the
problem of synchronising changes in political structures with the material record
(Carter 1992; Carter and Wright 2010: 15). The dates provided here are included as
a general guide to the archaeological phases only, and have been drawn mainly from
the recent synthesis of the archaeology and history of Elam by Potts (2016) unless
otherwise noted. The phase summaries do not aim to provide a comprehensive list of
excavated sites with archaeology dating to that phase but list the main assemblages
considered to be either representative or having some utility for understanding the
ceramics of the phase.

Old Elamite Shimashki and Sukkalmah phases

Shimashki phase ceramics, although displaying many regional Mesopotamian char-
acteristics, preface any discussion of Elamite assemblages and are often found at
sites that continued to be occupied into the Sukkalmah period (Carter and Wright
2010: 14). The Shimashki phase has been dated elsewhere to the late 3rd millen-
nium BC, contemporary with the Late Akkadian and Ur III periods (Carter 1992;
Carter and Wright 2010), but for the purposes of this review the Shimashki phase
is dated from c. 2000–1900 BC and the Sukkalmah phase from c. 1900–1500 BC;
together they cover the first half of the second millennium BC, or the Old Elamite
period (Potts 2016; Steve et al. 1980: 78). These two phases are best represented
by excavated assemblages from Susa and smaller exposures from sites in Khuz-
estan, Ram Hormuz and Deh Luran (see Carter 1984; 1992; Wright and Carter
2003; Alizadeh et  al. 2014; Carter and Wright 2010: 14; and Potts 2016: 144,
169–172 for references to other known regional Elamite and related material in
the highlands).

Shimashki phase (c. 2000–1900 BC)

At Susa, ceramics of the Shimashki phase are represented in the Ville Royale Chantier
B (VR B) and in the Ville Royale I (VR I) sounding (Gasche 1973; Carter 1980). The
first sample consists of a large selection of complete and near-­complete vessels recov-
ered from a series of small urban courtyard houses; the VR I assemblage comprises
a smaller but complete sample of finds from exposures containing mixed domestic
and burial contexts (Carter and Wright 2010: 14). Outside of Susa, finds from a
sounding at Tepe Farukhabad (Layers B15–19) in the Deh Luran plain have also been
found to contain Shimashki phase ceramics with links to Susa VR B and to late 3rd
millennium Mesopotamian types (Carter and Wright 2010: 14; Carter 1981, 1971).
Kaftari highland ceramic traditions focused on the region around Anshan have been
found to be contemporary with the Shimashki period, but no clear parallels with Susa

534
 — Ceramics —

materials are known until the following phase (see Petrie et al. 2005). Until the geo-
graphic extent of Elamite political influence at this time can be clarified, uncertainty
remains about which archaeological assemblages from Khuzestan, Fars or elsewhere
can be attributed to the Shimashkian Elamites (Potts 2016: 123). As noted above, the
archaeology at Susa does not signal any clearly defined break in ceramic styles at the
end of the 3rd millennium BC. The start date of c. 2000 BC assigned to the Shimashki
phase is based on dated tablets found in floor deposits in B VII. These tablets date
from 2035–2027 BC and place the BVII deposits in the period immediately before
the Shimashki era (see Potts 2016: 142–143), following the chronology proposed by
Steve et al. (1980: 78).

Sukkalmah phase (1900–1500 BC)

This much longer phase is represented by deposits from the Ville Royale Chantier
A (VR A), levels AXV to AXII and VR B, level V at Susa, which contain the main
Sukkalmah phase assemblages (Gasche 1973; Steve et al. 1980). The VR A sample
consists of whole and near-­complete vessels in the large open area excavation at the
northern end of the mound. Many vessels were found in situ, set into or underneath
floors in a succession of building levels comprising private housing, public buildings
and industrial complexes (Potts 2016: 161–162). Elsewhere in Susiana, at the small
site of Tepe Sharafabad, the earliest of four Elamite occupation layers was uncovered
in a discrete area of the site. It contained remains of architecture and a small but
varied range of ceramics best paralleled in the Sukkalmah phase at Susa (Schacht
1975: 323). The Sukkalmah phase is also represented at Tal-­i Ghazir (Tall-­e Geser)
in Ram Hormuz, in several areas from excavations conducted in the late 1940s, but
only recently has a comprehensive publication appeared based on the original exca-
vation records (Alizadeh et al. 2014; Caldwell 1968; see also Carter 1994, Carter and
Wright 2003). As at Tepe Sharafabad, the Sukkalmah phase represents a reoccupa-
tion of the site after a long gap commencing around the middle of the 3rd millennium
with material from Mound A (Level 2) providing the bulk of the published finds
found in association with architectural and non-­structural contexts (Alizadeh et al.
2014: 12, 15–16). At Tepe Farukhabad, the Elamite sequence continues into the Suk-
kalmah phase in Levels B 14–11b, with parallels from Susa in VR BV and A XV–XIV
(Carter 1981: 209).
Recently, new excavations at Haft Tepe have uncovered a previously undocu-
mented early occupation layer (Level I) from a small area of the site dated to the
17th–16th centuries BC (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a). Ceramics were paralleled with
several of Gasche’s vessel types from Susa in levels B V, and A  XV  – XIII as well
as some finds from B VII  – VI (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a: Pl. 9–16). Some dating
anomalies from C14 samples in Level I may indicate a Shimashki phase date but are
considered inconclusive, as the site stratigraphy and other finds support inclusion in
the Sukkalmah phase, from c. 17th century BC (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2015). It is during
this phase that painted and plain Kaftari wares from the Zagros highlands show
their earliest parallels with Elamite ceramics (Petrie et al. 2005: 53). Kaftari ceramics
are best known from Tal-­e Malyan (Anshan) and the surrounding plains (Nickerson
1983; Sumner 1989) and from soundings in Mamasani at Tol-­e Nurabad and Tol-­e
Spid (Potts et al. 2009).

535
 — Bernadette K. McCall —

Middle Elamite period (c. 1500–1000 BC)

Phasing during the second half of the second millennium BC has seen the most revi-
sions and there is considerable variation in proposed subdivisions and terminology,
and between archaeological and historical phases in the literature. Three historical
phases are proposed following changes in dynastic control: Middle Elamite I, 1500–
1400 BC; Middle Elamite II, 1400–1200 BC; and Middle Elamite III, 1200–1100 BC
(see Potts 2016: 176–177). Archaeologically, the period is divided into two phases,
but the dating is by necessity less precise and open to interpretation as new mate-
rial becomes available: Middle Elamite I (replacing the Transitional phase), c. 1500–
1400/1300 BC; and Middle Elamite II – III, c. 1400/1300–1000 BC (Carter 1992; see
Potts 2016: 197). The end date adopted here is derived from the main archaeolog-
ical sequence at Susa from the Ville Royal II (VR II) exposures, in keeping with the
proposed division between Middle Elamite levels and a probable gap between this
and the Neo-­Elamite excavation levels (Miroschedji 1981a), but differs in the use of
MEII – III for the phase name to limit confusion between historical and archaeolog-
ical data.
At Susa, the Middle Elamite I (or Early Middle Elamite) phase is represented in VR
A XI and in the Ville Royale-­Apadana (VR-Apadana) trench, Level 9. A gap in the VR
A sequence separates the Middle Elamite II – III levels of A X and A IX from the pre-
vious phase Level 8 in the VR-Apadana trench (Miroschedji 1981a: Table 26.2). The
sequence uncovered in the later Ville Royale II excavations spans the Middle Elamite
II – III, Levels 13 to 10 ending c. 1000 BC (Miroschedji 1981a). It was noted, how-
ever, that the diagnostic samples from Levels 12 and 11 were small and the descrip-
tion of ceramic types for the later Middle Elamite phase relies on the very similar
materials in Level 10 (Miroschedji 1981a: 14–15). The original excavations carried
out at Haft Tepe also uncovered extensive remains of building and burial complexes
from the Middle Elamite I  phase (Negahban 1991), and Levels II  – IV from new
excavations provide further evidence of this phase (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a: 105).
The ceramics and dated inscriptions place these levels in the late 15th–14th centu-
ries BC, and radiocarbon determinations concur: Level II was correlated with the
Terrace Complex 1 from Negahban’s excavation and Level III with the royal tomb
building (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2015; see Potts 2016: 186 for updated site terminology).
At Choga Zanbil, ceramics from the varied religious and tomb building complexes
uncovered in initial excavations were dated to the 11th century BC, contemporary
with Susa A  X and A  IX (Pons 1994; Ghirshman 1966, 1968). The site has also
undergone renewed excavations, and further final Middle Elamite layers are identi-
fied as Level 3 (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007).
Late second millennium Middle Elamite II-III ceramics have also been found in
Fars at Tal-­e Malyan, in the EDD building, Levels IV-III, which closely match Susa
types and exhibit affinities with local Qaleh wares (Carter 1996: 17–30), and from
the small soundings and surface collections in Mamasani which point to more exten-
sive Elamite settlement in the highlands (Potts et  al. 2009; McCall 2013). Surface
investigations at Tal-­e Malyan indicate that further evidence of this phase exists else-
where on the site (Carter 1996: 2). Similarly small stratified assemblages dating to
the Middle Elamite phase were found at Tal-­i Ghazir (Caldwell 1968; Carter 1994;
Alizadeh et al. 2014), and the latest Elamite occupation level from Tepe Sharafabad
belongs to Middle Elamite I (Schacht 1975).
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Neo-­Elamite period (c. 1000–539 BC)

Similar issues to those noted above relate to this period when attempting to correlate
three historical phases (see Potts 2016: 249) with archaeological data from Susa which
was divided into two phases, Neo-­Elamite I from c. 1000 BC to the later 8th century
BC, and Neo-­Elamite II continuing until the Achaemenid period (Miroschedji 1981a:
Table 26.2, 38–39). Starting at c. 1000 BC and possibly after a gap in the sequence at
Susa following the final Middle Elamite Level 10 (Miroschedji 1981a: 35), stratified
Neo-­Elamite ceramics are best known in the VR II sequence, Neo-­Elamite I from Levels
9–8 and Neo-­Elamite II from 7B – A, and the VR-Apadana sequence from Levels 7C
and 7B – A, respectively (Miroschedji 1981b). Added to this are the later phases revealed
at Choga Zanbil, Level 2, 10th–9th centuries BC and Level 1, 8th–7th centuries BC,
paralleled with the Susa finds (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 90). These two sequences from
Susa and Choga Zanbil constitute the main Neo-­Elamite assemblages for characteris-
ing the later phases of the period. Further ceramic evidence of the Neo-­Elamite period
is known from Ram Hormuz at Tal-­i Ghazir (see Carter 1994; Alizadeh et al. 2014)
and now also from western Fars in excavated soundings, particularly at Tol-­e Nurabad,
Trench B (see Potts et al. 2009). However, evidence from surveys and test excavations
in Ram Hormuz, Mamasani and Deh Luran indicates that the full distribution of Neo-­
Elamite ceramics outside Susa and into the highlands is yet to be fully revealed (Carter
1994; McCall 2013; Carter and Wright 2010).

VESSEL TYP E S
Gasche’s classification of ceramics from the long Ville Royale A and B sequences at
Susa provides the typological framework for the Elamite period (Gasche 1973). The
resulting study created a typology primarily based on overall ceramic forms, and
although new discoveries for the Middle and Neo-­Elamite phases have expanded our
knowledge, the major vessel types identified at Susa form the basic type-­series for
archaeologists studying this period. Gasche’s aim was to trace the evolution of vessels
and related ceramic forms through successive occupation layers, and the results offer
a diverse sequence for the Elamite period from varied contexts within the Royal city,
and combined with Carter’s extensive work from surrounding regions has enabled
ongoing changes in ceramic styles to be characterised between phases (Carter 1971,
1992). The typology was devised primarily on the basis of overall morphology and
common variations within these groups, including manufacturing traits that were
also consistently applied to certain forms. The assemblage was found to contain a
large and complex variety of ceramic forms classified into 37 groups, and Gasche
also added seven other categories that he termed Hors groupe, ceramics that could
not be classified into the general typology. The complete range of forms is extensive
and includes small and large vessels or utilitarian forms used in domestic, monu-
mental, funerary and architectural contexts, including bowls, goblets, bottles, small
and large jars, vats and less common forms such as flasks, high-­footed cups, vessel
stands and items used for drainage. The vessels are predominantly plain, but distinc-
tive moulding and applied bands, incision and less common painted decoration are
known. Motifs include linear bands in association with cross-­hatched fill, triangles
with cross-­hatching, or wavy lines, and surface treatments for the most part consist
of slips or smoothing only (Gasche 1973; Carter 1992).
537
 — Bernadette K. McCall —

The most common and distinctive vessel forms throughout the period are the small
jars and goblets classified as Groups 19, 20 and 21, and although goblets of type 19b
appear suddenly in the Sukkalmah phase and exhibit clear Mesopotamian attributes,
they become typical and widely distributed elements in Elamite assemblages (Gasche
1973: 37; Pons 1994). At Choga Zanbil, the most frequent forms identified from
diagnostic sherds are jars with banded rims (Gr. 29, 30 types), wide-­mouth vats (Gr.
34) and button bases from Groups 19c and 20 goblets (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 87);
and at Haft Tepe, button-­base goblets or elongated jars of various overall forms were
consistently the most frequent vessels identified (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a: 83). Cer-
tain vessels have only been found in limited, often burial, contexts (Gr. 26 and Gr. 27
chalices, e.g.), and other vessel types are encountered in burials or domestic contexts
alike – elongated jars and goblets, bowls and small vessels – which potentially had
different practical and symbolic functions in either context, and some vessels were
used for burial containers (see Carter 2011: 49). Architectural functions are often
apparent from context, as can be seen with inset open-­ended sumps or latrines, pipe
sections and guttering, or can be inferred from storage vessels set into and under floor
levels of buildings or associated areas at Susa, and Tepe Sharafabad, for example
(Gasche 1973: Pl. 51–53, 68; Schacht 1975: 323; see Potts 2016: 161–163 for discus-
sion of site contexts and potential vessel functions). To help understand how vessels
were used at Choga Zanbil and Haft Tepe, they were assigned to different functional
categories, including storage vessels, kitchen vessels, vessels used daily for eating and
drinking, luxury vessels, cult vessels, vessels of an industrial nature and other minia-
ture forms (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007: 80–ff.)

ELAMITE CERAMICS B Y P HAS E

From the main stratified assemblages excavated at Susa and throughout Khuzestan,
the characteristic vessel types, wares and technological traits that typify certain phases
underline the changes and continuity within the longer sequence (Carter 1971, 1984,
1992; Gasche 1973; Miroschedji 1981a, 1981b). These features are summarised in
Table 26.1 based on previous scholarship and updated with currently available data.
The table presents the main ceramic characteristics for each phase and, where detail
permits, has been further subdivided (see the later Middle Elamite phase, for exam-
ple). It is prudent to bear in mind that material complexity and ongoing uncertainty
surrounding dates (particularly in the early levels at Susa) are not so easily translated
into archaeological summaries, particularly during the Shimashki phase when the
nature of Elamite material culture is still elusive (see Potts 2016: 145). The summa-
ries are intended as a guide to understanding the main trends and developments that
mark each phase. However, differentiating precisely between one phase and the next
can be difficult in excavated assemblages and more so with survey collections. Dating
should rely on broader categories of material or scientific dating methods which suit
the scale of the investigation.

PRO BLEMS, QUESTIONS AND NE W RE S E ARCH

The table summarising ceramic trends from the Elamite period draws together data
obtained using different collection strategies and from varying contexts and sites to

538
 Table 26.1  Elamite ceramic characteristics by phase.

Period Phases Main sites Main forms Main ware types and surface Main forms and other diagnostic Phase characteristics /
treatments forms comments

NE II VR II Common wares (cw): Red-brown Main forms: Bowls, small conical -Increasingly coarser wares
(L. 7B–6) group with mixed mineral and curving wall. than preceding phases; fine
  minimal vegetal temper; some Goblets, footed, short slightly wares disappear.
crushed sherd temper; coarse, everted open types without neck; -Red-brown common wares
Other key poorly smoothed surfaces, or cylindrical necked forms (not 75% and buff 15% of
sites: irregular string-cut bases. illustrated, CZ, Mofidi-Nasrabadi assemblage at Susa; coarse
Choga Buff to light brown group, with 2007: Pl. 45–6). wares 10%.
Zanbil   some vegetal and mixed mineral Jars, cylindrical neck, elongated body All wheel formed; some large
(Ph. 1) temper; buff slipped, either well with round or pointed bases, height vessels partially hand-built.
smoothed or rough surfaces. varies from 40–80cm; typical form. -Goblet types at Choga Zanbil
Coarse mineral tempered wares Jars, short neck, globular body; or similar to later Gr. 19c
(csw): four groups based on wide mouth form with projecting types (Mofidi-Nasrabadi
dominant inclusions, either rim with low relief ridge/groove 2007:Fig. 45-46).

NEO-ELAMITE
white, grey, red or fine, sandy, high below. -Ceramics found in Ram

NE I–II (1000–646BC)
with minimal vegetal temper. Small bottles, glazed surface. Hormuz (Carter 1994);
Surfaces are smoothed or and limited evidence in
occasionally rough. Other forms: Large wide-mouth highlands (Potts et al. 2009;
Glazed wares, fine red-brown or vats (pithoi), incurving wall with McCall 2013).
common wares; used on some projecting rim and ridge combination;
bowls, bottles, jars; green or various small jars and bowls.
greenish white glazes. (Miroschedji 1981a:29–33).

(Continued)
 Table 26.1 (Continued)

Period Phases Main sites Main forms Main ware types and surface Main forms and other diagnostic Phase characteristics /
treatments forms comments

NE I VR II Mainly reddish-brown for all Main forms: Bowls (cw), conical small -Limited continuity in forms,
(L. 9–8) wares, some lighter and buff and medium all irregularly formed fewer goblets (10%) and
variants. and finished, string-cut bases (Gr. 1 new cylindrical incised
Common wares (cw): red-brown, types); form.
with mineral and vegetal Larger deep bowls (cw), sinuous -Elamite goblets virtually
Other key inclusions, carelessly smoothed profile with various plain or everted disappear at Susa; examples
sites: Choga surfaces; a buff ware with rims (Gr. 3 types); deep conical continue at Choga Zanbil
Zanbil abundant vegetal temper; and bowls with pinched spout at rim (Mofidi-Nasrabadi 2007).
(Ph. 2) a less common red-brown (new form); basins, plain or with -Bowls, large jars and vats
ware with larger vegetal and projecting rim and ridge. main forms.
abundant mineral temper, Large necked jars, banded rims; or -Common and coarse wares
  rough surface and thin slip or cylindrical neck, ovoid body (cw, dominant types.
wash. csw). -Glaze appears in Level 8.
Coarse wares (csw): coarse Large wide-mouth vats (pithoi) and -Ceramics found in Ram
vegetal and crushed sherd jars, mostly upright or incurving Hormuz (Carter 1994);
temper, white mineral grit. wall with projecting rim and ridge and limited evidence in
Fine wares (fw): fine mineral, combination high on wall; most highlands (Potts et al. 2009;
or no visible inclusions, with ring-base, some with opening McCall 2013).
slipped, well smoothed (minor at base (csw).
Relative scale 1:2 component only). Other forms: goblets, mainly globular
Surface treatments consist of body with ridged shoulder (fw);
beige or self-coloured slips, cylindrical with incised decoration;
rare glazed (greenish) vessel. and less common forms (cw).
Jars, small rounded, mainly cylindrical
necks (cw, occasional fw).
Jars, medium narrow and wide-mouth
forms with short neck, banded,
bevelled or plain rims, some with
side spouts (cw, csw).
(Miroschedji 1981a: 19–22).
 ME II–III VR II (L. Dominated by light brown, buff Main forms: Bowls (fw, cw), small -Simplified range of ceramic
(c. 1300–c. 12–10) ware. Fine ware (fw): very fine conical with string-cut base (Gr. 1); forms continues from MEI
1000BC VR A X-IX mineral, rare or no vegetal small (fw) and medium (cw); bowls -Appearance of high-necked
VR-AP (L. inclusions (small bowls). with sinuous profile (Gr. 3). “Elamite goblet.”
8) Common ware (cw): red-brown Goblets, elongated with high -At end of phase (L. 10)
to buff, mainly light brown; cylindrical necks (Gr. 19c); ovoid goblets no longer made in
abundant fine vegetal temper, body with button-base; and fine wares.
Other key     white mineral grit, occasional globular body with ridged shoulder. -Ware types at Susa equally
sites: Choga crushed sherd temper. Large jars, short neck with banded dominated by common and
Zanbil (Ph. Coarse ware (csw): red-brown rim, ovoid or globular body; short coarse fabrics at end of
3) to buff, light brown; coarse neck with triangular shaped rim phase with only c.10% fine
Tal-e vegetal and crushed sherd (Gr. 29a, 30). wares.
Malyan temper, white mineral grit. Small jars, narrow straight neck; and -Typical ME ceramic forms
(EDD) Slipped (self) and/or smoothed wide-necked forms. (including goblets) appear
surface treatments. Large wide-mouth jars/vats (pithoi), in Zagros highlands at Tal-e
everted wall with opening in base; Malyan (Carter 1996), and
upright wall with projecting rim Mamasani (see Potts et al.
and ridge. 2009: Fig. 3.121; McCall
Other forms: small bowls, bevelled 2013).
edge rim; large shallow bowls; large
jars without neck; jar stands.

MIDDLE ELAMITE
(Miroschedji 1981a:15–17; Carter

ME I–III (1500–1000 BC)

1992).
Fine ware (fw): brown to buff, as Main forms: Goblets, small with -Even proportion of ware
VR II (L. 13) above. button base; short with carinated types in assemblage.
VR A XI Common ware (cw): red-brown shoulders; and ovoid body with -Bowls, large (cw)
to buff, mainly light brown; button-base. -Goblets in fine ware only.
abundant fine vegetal temper, Bowls, small, round and conical (fw -No high necked elongated
white mineral grit, occasional and cw); and large versions (csw). goblets at Susa in this phase.
crushed sherd temper. Jars, with and without necks and large -Ware types/forms found in
Coarse ware (csw): red-brown open forms (csw). Fars, Tal-e Malyan (Carter
to buff, light brown; coarse 1996), Mamasani sites
vegetal and crushed sherd (Miroschedji 1981a:13). (Potts et al. 2009; McCall
Relative scale 1:2 temper, white mineral grit. 2013).

(Continued)
 Table 26.1 (Continued)

Period Phases Main sites Main forms Main ware types and surface Main forms and other diagnostic Phase characteristics /
treatments forms comments

ME I VR-AP (L. Plain buff wares, mostly Main forms: Goblets, cylindrical -Continuity in forms
(Early 9). greenish-buff, with occasional neck, ovoid body (Gr. 19c), angular and ware types from
Middle VR A XI–IX reddish or grey ware; grit- shoulder, ovoid body (Gr. 20a); Sukkalmah phase; difficult
Elamite) tempered; or grit and vegetal. rounded shoulder, squat globular to differentiate but trend
Other key Mostly wheel made. body (Gr. 20b); small jar/goblet towards fewer forms.
sites: Slip colours buff, pink to green with carinated shoulder (Gr. 21b); -Base types change on
Haft Tepe tinged. and elongated ovoid type goblet/ cylindrical goblet, from Gr.
(HT) L. Minor painted component, flask; button and pedestal bases, 19b flat types to Gr. 19c
II–IV crudely rendered geometric some with central plug to form pedestal bases.
motifs (HT, Negahban 1991). foot (see HT Types V, VI, XIII, XIV, -Large open ended vats
Buff wares, fine vegetal temper XVI). continue (Gr. 35).
(HT, Mofidi-Nasrabadi Jars, small with round or pointed base -Highland (Kaftari/Qaleh)
2014a). (HT types I–IV). Elamite links in grey wares,
Grey wares, painted decoration. Jars, large oval body, rounded base painted forms.
(see Gr. 30).
Other forms: Painted flasks (Gr. 13),
bowls (see Gr. 1, 2).
scale 1:2

Sukkalmah B V Vegetal tempered buff wares Main forms: Goblets, elongated ovoid -Major change in clay
more common; larger forms or cylindrical body, flat and stump preparation (shift from
VR A also contain sand, crushed base (Gr. 19b). mineral to vegetal temper)
XV–XII sherd temper. Jars, squat, angular shoulder (Gr. -Closed forms dominate.
Surfaces slipped and unslipped. 21a-b). -Painted flasks characteristic
Relief bands and ridges common Large open-mouthed jars/vats (Gr. Elamite form
on body of large jars, vats; 33-34). -Gr. 6 bowls disappear
projecting ridges on shoulder Large closed jars/vats (Gr. 36-37). -Continued influences from
of closed forms. Other forms: painted ‘Elamite’ flasks Mesopotamia including
(Gr. 13). appearance of string-cut
bases.
 Incised and impressed decoration Bowls, angled/curved carinated wall -Haft Tepe, Level 1 assemblage
also found on larger forms. (Gr. 3). includes Gr. 34, 29, 25,
Painted geometric decoration Large vats, open-ended (Gr. 35). and Gr. 21a type jars; Hg.
present but not common V large jars Hg. V, and Gr.
(flasks, small jars, beakers) 3, 9, 19, 33 miscellaneous
Use of bitumen as a surface forms (Mofidi-Nasrabadi

OLD ELAMITE
(c.2000–1500 BC)
treatment (interior/exterior). 2014a: Pl. 9–16).
Relative scale 1:2
Shimashki VR I Mainly plain, grit tempered buff Main forms: Bowls, convex wall -Some examples of ‘Elamite’
B VII–VI wares dominate. incurving rim (Gr. 5); flaring with (Gr. 25) grey wares (see
Occasional grey, brown-black indented band-rim (Gr. 6). Carter 1979: 127).
reduction-fired wares with no Jars, small, multiple grooved rims, -Closest parallels
vegetal temper (see Gr. 25). round body (Gr. 15); squat, angular with contemporary
Occasional decoration: incised, shoulder and wall (Gr. 21); large, Mesopotamian Later
impressed applied bands or globular, angular ridge between Akkadian/UR III forms.
ridges on larger forms; rare neck and body (Gr. 18). -Regional variations during
linear, wavy painted bands on Other forms: Bowls, small and large period (e.g. Deh Luran
miscellaneous small forms (see with flaring or carinated wall, assemblages – Carter and
Gr. 16, Hg. III). rounded, everted and overhanging Wright 2010).
Some use of bitumen on surfaces. rims (Gr. 1, 3, 4, 7).
Jars, small to large, squat biconical
body (Gr. 12), large and squat jars
with ridged, incised or rounded
shoulder (Gr. 23, 24, 25, 29) and
miscellaneous or ungrouped forms
(Gr. 16, Hg. III, V).

Note:  Based predominantly on Susa sequences (Gasche 1973; Miroschedji 1981a) and summaries (Carter 1984, 1992) unless specified otherwise; phasing
or descriptions from original publications where possible, with reference to Potts (2016). Abbreviations: CZ refers to Choga Zanbil; Gr. to Gasche’s type
series (Groupes) with numbering system from Susa VR A and B typology; Hg. to Gasche’s ungrouped categories; HT to Haft Tepe, for types and description
(Negahban 1991) and for excavation levels at Haft Tepe, and additional ceramic data in the Sukkalmah phase (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a), and for Choga
Zanbil (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007); VR II for later Susa levels (Miroschedji 1981a); TN for Tol-­e Nurabad (Potts et a. 2009). References for other sites with useful
stratified assemblages including Haft Tepe, Choga Zanbil, Tepe Sharafabad, Tepe Farukhabad, and the smaller exposures in Mamasani are provided in text if not
otherwise stated. Images adapted from Carter (1984: Fig. 10–12), based on Miroschedji (1981a, 1981b); and Potts et al. (2009) for Tol-­e Nurabad.
 — Bernadette K. McCall —

present broad material trends, particularly important in a fragmented political land-

scape such as the Zagros Mountains. However, it also highlights limitations and sev-
eral potential research streams. The problem of understanding the early development
of Elamite ceramics with their obscure origins and the continued use of ceramic types
with close ties to Mesopotamian characteristics remains (Potts 2016: 143). Many of
the historically recorded Elamite regions have not been located, and the origins of
the later cohesive material culture may have its roots in as yet unexplored areas (see
Potts 2016: 127; Table  5.1). Not knowing their actual locations will make it very
difficult to determine which group or groups contributed most to the development of
later material assemblages. Shimashki ceramic types also continue to occur with later
Sukkalmah ceramics, noted in Deh Luran and in the lower level at Haft Tepe which
suggests a gradual shift in forms from one phase to the other (Carter and Wright
2010: 14; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014a). Continuity in forms coupled with a marked
change in the technological aspects of ceramic production in the Sukkalmah period
should be investigated further to see what mechanisms created change, such as local
innovation or transfer of skills (Carter and Wright 2010: 14).
Unanswered questions such as these also add to the difficulty of correlating mate-
rial and historical phases, which continues to be problematic throughout the Elamite
period. The placement of these chronological terms in Table 26.1 is by necessity gen-
eralised in relation to excavation layers from Susa and other key sites that have been
used to define ceramic trends, as are broad classifications of ceramic characteristics.
Descriptions of Early Middle Elamite ceramics were not available for earlier reviews
due in part to the paucity of material at Susa and the lack of published data. The
Haft Tepe assemblage added important data (Negahban 1991: 25), particularly as
evidence of links with highland forms and wares continued (Carter 1992: 295). Haft
Tepe ceramics have been described generally as grit-­tempered, buff wares (Negahban
1991: 25) but more recently noted to also include vegetal tempered fabrics and show
greater variation within the assemblage that can be correlated to different forms
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b: 386). These variations underline the need for regional
archaeometric studies to characterise different ceramic pastes and identify variations
in technology in addition to descriptions based on visual attributes alone.
Just as the origins of Elam are poorly known, the picture towards the end of the
Elamite period is still unclear, and there is uncertainty about the Elamite presence in
the Zagros regions of Fars. Much of Tal-­e Malyan remains unexcavated, and early
Qaleh assemblages are still poorly understood (Carter 1996). The distribution of sites
with Neo-­Elamite ceramics is mostly concentrated in Khuzestan, but sites in Ram
Hormuz contain evidence of this period (see Carter 1994 for summary; Carter 1971,
Wright and Carter 2003), as do the Elamite phases of Tol-­e Nurabad and Tol-­e Spid
and surface collections in Mamasani which are only partially investigated (Potts et al.
2009; McCall 2013).

ARCHAEOMETRIC S TU D IE S
Previous analyses of Elamite ceramics based on petrographic characterisation and
neutron activation analysis were carried out at Tal-e Malyan, aimed at investigat-
ing observed similarities between lowland and highland wares from Middle Elamite
levels, but comparisons with lowland Elamite ceramics and the questions regarding

544
 — Ceramics —

imported versus local manufacture are yet to be systematically addressed (see Carter
1996: 18). It is only recently that inter-­site archaeometric analysis from Elamite sites
in Khuzestan is becoming more prevalent, with the resumption of excavations at Haft
Tepe and Choga Zanbil (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b; Emami 2012; Emami and Trettin
2012). Already these studies have generated quantified data on fabric selection, vessel
forming and updated technological studies.
Detailed compositional and optical microscopic analysis of the ceramics from
recent fieldwork undertaken at Haft Tepe has helped clarify some of the variation
observed in the ceramic pastes (Emami 2012). The results identified locally sourced
raw materials that clustered into two main mineralogical and chemical groups that
were differentiated by clay preparation and firing technologies. The resultant ceramic
groups were interpreted as representing a local transition from one technology to
another (Emami 2012: 6).
The same analyses were applied on new excavation data from later Middle Elamite
ceramics at Choga Zanbil to investigate ceramic manufacturing during and after this
period of Elamite expansion (Emami and Trettin 2012). Samples were selected from a
range of vessel types that spanned the period from c. 1200–700 BC. Different ceramic
processing methods were identified based on differing firing temperatures; the choice
of raw materials (locally available calcium-­rich clays) and inclusions was more con-
sistently selected to match firing choices (Emami and Trettin 2012: 365–366; 375).
In addition to site-­specific questions, these studies have produced a model for stan-
dardised characterisation of Elamite ceramics which could be adopted more widely
for future comparative studies, and are especially useful for studying the technologi-
cal aspects of ceramic production at other sites where kilns have been located. Using
this data, it was also possible to show that ceramic raw material differences between
Haft Tepe and Choga Zanbil were due to variations in locally sourced raw materials
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b). Compositional analysis has also been used to explore
ceramic evidence for the presence of local and non-­local ceramics at Tal-­i Ghazir, as
a correlate for contacts and exchange between sites in the Ram Hormuz plain, the
Susiana plain and major sites in Mesopotamia (Alden et al. 2014). Emphasis was on
the earlier occupation phases at the site, but a small quantity of Sukkalmah to Middle
Elamite sherds were analysed along with local clay samples. The results indicated a
combination of two local fabric groups in use, and a lower number of Mesopotamian
compositional wares representative of contact between the two areas from the late
fifth to early second millennia BC (Alden et al. 2014: 266).
We also see a high degree of consistency in forms and decorations within assem-
blages and between sites which raises questions about standardised ceramic manu-
facturing, transference of technology and customs, or the distribution of vessels and
their products. Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2014b) examined the seemingly mass-­produced
Middle Elamite button-­based goblets in light of the large numbers of these items at
Haft Tepe and Choga Zanbil. Apart from the morphological differences, the earlier
Haft Tepe goblets were made of finer fabrics, were more carefully formed and only
some showed evidence that the foot was finished by filling with a central lump of
clay to seal the bottom of the vessel (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b: 387). This feature
was consistently used later at Choga Zanbil and, based on other studies it was pro-
posed that the technique was used to speed up the production process: the lower and
upper vessel parts could have been formed separately on the wheel, the base sealed

545
 — Bernadette K. McCall —

and the two parts joined (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014b: Figure 9 and for full references).
It was hypothesised that the change in production methods was an internal Elamite
development driven by increased demand for mass production following a period of
historically attested Elamite expansion and associated building programmes (Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2014b: 395). Results such as this are valuable for approaching changes
in ceramic repertoires during the Middle Elamite period. The adoption of similar
methods for existing assemblages, particularly in highland areas, may help address
questions regarding local versus centralised production methods. This may also be a
major factor contributing to the development of simpler and more consistent Elamite
ceramic assemblages, a trend that is found throughout the second half of the 2nd
millennium BC.

CONCLUSIONS AND F U TU RE S TU D IE S
The variation in forms, size, decoration and contexts in which Elamite ceramics are
found embodies a complex, multilayered society where ceramic vessels were used
to perform some of the more mundane aspects of everyday life in domestic settings,
facilitated social interaction, provided reliable storage and were used to manage
resources or enabled long-­distance trade; they contributed to town planning and
improved public health, and were also elevated into the role of sacred in rituals for
both the living and the dead (e.g. Gasche 1973; Potts 2016: 161–ff.; Carter 2011).
The assemblages from Susa have hinted at these many roles, the sites of Haft Tap-
peh, Choga Zanbil and Tal-­e Malyan confirm others. However, to understand the
specific functions of particular vessel forms and potentially how they were used, and
the degree of planning that went into the production of certain forms, will require
more inquisitive research designs and methodologies be adopted (e.g. Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2014b). Different forms hint at the highly specific intended functions of
certain vessels, indicating well-­defined social, economic and religious practices. The
later conformity of production methods and forms exhibited within this variation
contributes to the highly recognisable character of Elamite ceramics, and can be
viewed as evidence of a widespread ceramic technology with potters able to create
simple mass-­produced forms efficiently, alongside more complicated and durable
forms. Further archaeometric analysis will be crucial for understanding innovation
and influence displayed in changing ceramic styles and forming methods. Studies
of ceramics at all stages of their manufacture and use, from raw materials prepa-
ration, forming methods, assemblage makeup, distribution and contents analysis,
could answer important questions about their Elamite users and how Elam adapted
to changing political conditions from the beginning of the second millennium to the
mid-­1st millennium BC.
The vessels, and the customs and practices that were embodied within them, are
found in many sites and regions throughout the Elamite sphere yet somewhat ironi-
cally are better known from the lowland assemblages centred on Susa and surround-
ing excavated sites. Crucial to understanding the highland realm of Elam will be
further comparative studies of the assemblages of the Kaftari to Qaleh periods in Fars
and the transition between these two traditions which is still largely unknown, even
at Tal-­e Malyan (Sumner 1994: 97–99; Carter 1996; Alden et al. 2005: 39–41). Addi-
tional research into the ceramics from smaller sites away from the larger capitals, for

546
 — Ceramics —

example, in Ram Hormuz and Mamasani, will also help scholars understand how
fragmented regional Elamite settlements functioned and how they interacted with
existing local populations (Potts 2016: 145; McCall 2013). The important points
to note from this brief review of the background to Elamite ceramic studies is that
new data can quickly change existing views and that recourse to multidisciplinary
approaches to ceramics can be used to ask different questions that will enhance our
knowledge of the Elamite world.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Alden, J.R., Abdi, K., Azadi, A., Beckman, G. and Pittman, H. 2005. Fars Archaeological Proj-
ect 2004: Excavation at Tal-­e Malyan. Iran 43: 39–47.
Alden, J R., Minc, L. and Alizadeh, A. 2014. Appendix A: INAA analysis of ceramics from Tall-­e
Geser and Abu Fanduweh: Compositional signatures and evidence for ceramic exchange.
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University of Chicago.
———. 1979. Elamite Pottery, ca. 2000–1000 B.C. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 38:
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 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE METAL ARTS OF ELAM

François Bridey*

A lthough the beginnings of metallurgy are in large part the result of chance, the
proximity of mineral deposits seems to have played a role in triggering the devel-
opment of the first forms of metalworking. Thus, Anatolia, Palestine and Iran, all
three regions naturally rich in minerals, were pioneers in this field. The archaeological
excavations carried out in Iran, particularly those in Susa since the end of the 19th
century and then on the plateau for the past 30 years, have yielded numerous metal
objects as well as metallurgical furnishings and installations which testify to the devel-
opment of metalwork and the very high technical level reached in certain periods by
the metalworkers of the Iranian world. Considering the importance, both in number
and quality, of the discoveries it has delivered, the site of Susa is the major reference
for the metallurgical production of this region of the Near East, even if excavations
have not revealed any metal workshops. Amongst the considerable mass of Susa’s
metal artefacts are tools, weapons, vessels and ornaments, mainly delivered by buri-
als, as well as small and large statuary, which participate not only in partly defining
Elamite art and craft but also our knowledge of the techniques mastered by the met-
alworkers. This “Elamite” metallurgy, which would concern stricto sensu the period
extending between ca. 2700 and 525 BC, is nevertheless inseparable from a wider
production, which was attested well before the political constitution of the kingdom
of Elam, and which has made it possible to determine the technological, typological
and stylistic milestones of a history of metallurgy and metal arts in the Iranian world.

SUSA I AND THE B E G INNING S

O F COP P ER METALLURG Y (CA. 4 2 0 0 – 3 8 0 0 B C)
Compared to contemporary sites, Susa has produced for the levels corresponding
to its foundation and the first period of its occupation (Susa I, ca. 4200–3800 BC)
an exceptional metallurgical production as much by the number of objects as by
their quality. Most of these objects are grave goods coming from the Susa I necrop-
olis explored in the years 1906–1908. The thousands of burials excavated here by
Jacques de Morgan delivered a total of 50 flat axes similar in shape to stone exam-
ples, axes with concave side and narrow heel, about 20 circular mirrors, a pin and an

550
 — Metal arts —

awl (Tallon 1987 : 311–314, Figure 48). This exceptional hoard of metal intended for
the dead is relevant to only about 5% of the burials. It therefore seems to be the mark
of a nascent social hierarchy, corroborated by the appearance of a figure of authority
in contemporary glyptic and the construction of the High Terrace, considered the
religious centre of the city by its excavators, whose scale and proportions imply the
existence of an organizing power. The copper used for the manufacture of axes and
mirrors is in most cases a very pure copper, probably native, or in some cases alloyed
naturally with arsenic. The Anarak region in the centre of the country has often been
proposed as a possible source of supply for this arsenical copper (Smith 1965; Ber-
thoud 1979: 114 ff.), but no archaeological evidence to date confirms these mines
were exploited for these high periods. The axes, which possess a flat face, were cast
in open moulds and then hammered in order to form the cutting edge of the head
and to thin the poll to favor their hafting. These axes had to be ligated to a wooden
handle, but none of them were placed in the burials tied up to their hafts. They were
wrapped up in fabric before being deposited in the graves, and many of them have
retained traces of it on their oxidised metal surface. The unattested use of these axes
as well as their dimensions – up to 23 cm long – and the heavy weight of some spec-
imens suggest they could possibly be axe-­shaped ingots (Amiet 1986: 35–36). The
mirrors, consisting in simple polished copper discs, were attributed by Morgan to
female burials, even if he acknowledged the difficulty of studying and identifying the
bones of the deceased. While no perforation is visible, these mirrors have sometimes
been interpreted as pendants of a type close to the one carried around the neck of
a caprid-­headed genius mastering serpents on some contemporary seal impressions
(Hole 1992: 30; Amiet 1972: 41, no. 220). At the end of the Susa I period, the shapes
of metal artefacts become more complex as well as more functional: axes and hoes
now have a hole for the shaft (Tallon 1987: 312, Figure 49). Such objects were still
cast in open moulds provided with a removable cylindrical mandrel made of wood or
ceramic allowing the creation of a shaft-­hole during the casting process. Contempo-
raneous moulds of this type have been found at Tepe Ghabristan (Madjidzadeh 1979:
figs. 2.2 and 3.1–2; Stöllner et al. 2004: 607–608, nos. 103, 104 and 108).
Even if the objects excavated from the deep levels of Susa are not as remarkable as
the contemporary productions of the southern Levant, they nevertheless embody the true
early stages of a metallurgy hitherto confined to rare and small objects of native copper,
and attest to the beginnings of a specialized craft industry. This production demonstrates
a wise exploitation of the different properties of metal: the possibility of casting it for the
melting of solid objects that are then cold-­or hot-­worked, its malleability and ductility
suited to the production of pins and needles, and its reflective properties to making mirrors.

METALWORK AND METALLURGY

FROM THE PROTO-­U RBAN PERIOD (SUSA II AND III)
In the second half of the 4th millennium, at the beginning of the Proto-­Urban period,
metallurgy was experiencing new developments. The periodisation of Susa II (Uruk
period) and Susa III (proto-­Elamite period) is of no consequence to the metalwork,
and a continuity of production is attested until ca. 2850 BC, at the end of the Proto-­
Elamite period. Although Mesopotamia saw the emergence of metallurgy, the Ira-
nian plateau remained the main driver of technological innovations. The use of new

551
 — François Bridey —

metals, the increase of intentional alloys and the development of new shaping and
assembling techniques are the most significant features of the period.
In addition to copper, gold, silver and lead are beginning to be used. This phenom-
enon is particularly visible in Susa, where lead is attested from early Susa II for the
manufacture of objects like spouted jars, bowls and cups whose shapes are known in
ceramic. Simultaneously, silver was used to fashion jewellery, which shows the devel-
opment of cloisonné and champlevé techniques. This metal was obtained following a
specific refining process, silver requiring the smelting and then cupellation of argentif-
erous lead ores. This process is well attested from the second half of the 4th millenium
on the iranian plateau, at Tepe Sialk, Arisman or Tepe Hissar (Nezafati et Pernicka
2012). In addition to a tiny dog-­shaped bead (Tallon 1987: 265, no. 1162), alleged
child burials from Late Uruk levels at Susa delivered a series of silver champlevé
pendants enhanced with hematite and gold, a pendant adorned with small doves
and quartz beads (Amiet 1966: 87, Figure 46; Stöllner et al. 2004: 656, no. 245) and
cruciform pendants inlaid with hematite and gold (Tallon 1987: 263, no. 1159 and
1160). These elements illustrate a new taste for the association of different coloured
materials and bear witness to an obvious aesthetic interest in polychromy. Gold is
still rarely attested in the early Susa II, but its work and use is illustrated by a small
pendant in the shape of a dog (Tallon 1987: 265, no. 1161), and at Tell-­e Malyan by
a small gold leaf cut in the shape of a leopard (Sumner 2003: Figure 43b).
Apart from the use of new metals, the Proto-­Urban period also saw the multipli-
cation of alloys, mainly copper alloys, such as copper-­lead and copper-­arsenic, the
latter being the most widespread. Experimented with since Susa II, the copper-­arsenic
alloy – increasing the hardness of the metal – became the most common alloy during
the 3rd millennium, as evidenced by the analyses carried out on the material from
Susa and also from Malyan and Tepe Yahya. It would become the main alloy until
the end of the 2nd millennium in eastern Iran and Central Asia. The copper-­lead alloy,
which offers more fluidity to the metal and thus facilitates the casting process, is cir-
cumscribed at Susa to the Susa II levels (Tallon 1987: 362–364).
From a technical point of view, the Proto-­Urban period was a time of great innova-
tion. The bivalve moulds make their appearance as evidenced by collared axes dated to
the end of Susa III. Even if no such mould has been found in Susa, they are attested at the
same time at the site of Tepe Ghabristan. The lost-­wax casting process, which is attested
earlier in the southern Levant and further east in Pakistan (Thoury et al. 2016), makes
its debut in Iran in the Susa II levels and gives birth to the first metal sculpture, contem-
porary with the beginnings of stone sculpture in the round. These small elements adorn
primarily the head of pins and represent animals such as ibexes, goats and felines, birds
sitting on a closed fist and, very rarely, human figures (Tallon 1987: 239–240, no. 967–
988). Two small pure copper statuettes representing a man and a woman were found
in 1966 and 1968 in the Susa II levels of the Acropole at Susa (Stève and Gasche 1971:
145–147, pl. 12, Spycket 1981: 33–34). In a cruder style compared to the pin-­head figu-
rines, the two figures are depicted standing naked, with the arms along the body. Because
of the absence of a base or a tenon under their feet, these statuettes could not stand; it
is difficult to understand their exact function, their use or the way they were exhibited.
Sheet metalwork is attested for the manufacture of statuettes as a kneeling bull
holding a spouted vessel of unknown provenance but attributed to the Proto-­Elamite
period, and now at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (Hansen et  al.

552
 — Metal arts —

1970). Metal sheets are also used for the making of vessels by hammering or emboss-
ing. Metallographic analyses carried out on copper or lead spouted jars from Susa
confirm the continuity between the body and the spout without any trace of soldering
(Tallon 1987 : 216, no. 780–783 ; 320–321). This latter technique made its appear-
ance at the time of Susa II, as evidenced by the above-­mentioned small gold dog-­
shaped pendant found in Susa in 1939 by Roland de Mecquenem. Despite its small
size – only 1.5cm long – this pendant is a comprehensive repertory of the metallurgical
techniques mastered by the metalworkers of the Proto-­Urban period (Mecquenem
1943: 17, Duval et al. 1987, Tallon 1987: no. 1161). The object was first moulded,
according to the lost-­wax casting technique, around a clay core in order to save metal.
The metal used was not pure gold but an alloy containing 10% silver and 1 to 2%
copper. Legs, muzzle, ears and the coiled tail were stretched by successive reheating
after the addition of metal. Finally, details such as the coat of the legs or the collar
were obtained by cold chasing. But it is above all the presence of a loop allowing the
suspension of the object that reveals the skill of Susa’s metallurgists. This loop, made
from a strip of metal of the same alloy folded on itself, was fixed by soldering, the
technical difficulty being to avoid the two elements (pendant and loop) beginning to
melt at the moment of their joining. To circumvent this difficulty, the metallurgists
used a different gold alloy with 15–20% silver and 5–6% copper for the brazing filler
metal. The addition of silver and copper lowered the melting point of the solder metal,
allowing joining while preserving the integrity of the two elements to be assembled.

SUSA AND THE B E G INNING S

OF B RONZE ME TAL L U RG Y
Bronze objects first appeared in the middle of the 3rd millennium at Susa, at the end
of the Susa IV A period. In Mesopotamia, where the rise of metallurgy, especially
goldwork, is brilliantly exhibited throughout the 3rd millennium, bronze is known
a little earlier, as early as Early Dynastic IIIA, especially in the royal tombs of Ur. In
comparison with copper, bronze offers new properties: it is easier to cast because
its melting point is lower than that of copper and it is also more resistant. The first
bronze objects, however, testify to its use as a precious material: they are often found
in the same context as gold and other precious objects and consist of vessels or orna-
ments more than weapons and tools. The manufacture of these first bronzes – imply-
ing the need to obtain supplies of tin – coincides in Mesopotamia with the increasing
use of gold and lapis lazuli. The sources of these materials, as well as tin, are found to
the east in the alluvial basins of the rivers of Central Asia, and Afghanistan particu-
larly. The route of gold and lapis passing through Susa and ending in Mesopotamia,
seemed to be duplicated by a tin route (Pigott 1999: 83–84).
At Susa, the first evidence of tin bronze metallurgy belongs to the so-­called Vase
à la cachette deposit (Tallon 1987: 328–333) found in 1907 on the Susa Acropole
mound. By the diversity of its content, this find offers a wide overview of the various
crafts of the Iranian world in the middle of the 3rd millennium BC. It included, within
two large clay vessels, 48 metal objects as well as five copper ingots, three rings and
nine gold beads, a silver ring, a collection of six-cylinder seals, 11 ribbed alabaster
vessels characteristic of South-­Eastern Iran, a tiny lapis frog-­shaped pendant, a sherd
of enamelled ceramic and 13 small coloured stones. Metal objects include weapons

553
 — François Bridey —

(axes and daggers), tools (adzes, chisel, shovel, saw, scale), vessels (cups, bowls, cari-
nated vases, strainer), ornaments and toiletries (mirror, bracelets, rings and beads). The
shape of several of these objects is inspired in part by forms from Mesopotamia and
Luristan. The copper ingots, weighing from 1.4 to 2.9 kg, have a more or less flattened
hemispherical form, conditioned by the shape of the crucible in which the copper was
isolated. These plano-­convex ingots are very common in the Near East, particularly
in the Gulf region, but also in the Indus Valley. Detailed chemical analyses revealed
a curtained homogeneity of the composition of these objects made of pure copper
or naturally alloyed with arsenic. Beside the copper objects, four items (two vases,
a strainer and an adze) with more than 7% tin and two bowls with 2% tin attest to
the beginnings of the copper-­tin alloy. According to the analyses of the trace elements
(cobalt, nickel, iron) of the copper used for the metal artefacts of the Vase à la cachette
deposit, the Gulf region seems to have been the supply source for the copper (Menu
and Tallon 1998). This chemical composition differs from that of the other contem-
porary metal objects from Susa. Therefore, it appears that Susa metalworkers contin-
ued using copper sourced from the centre of the Iranian plateau as much as copper
imported from the Oman peninsula, the ancient Magan of the Mesopotamian sources.

METAL ARTEFACTS F RO M THE TIM E

OF SUSA IV AND SUSA V (CA. 2 8 0 0 – 1 5 0 0 B C)
From the 3rd to the beginning of the 2nd millennium, Susa became permeable to
Mesopotamian cultural influences, and its metallurgical production expanded and
diversified considerably. From a technical point of view, the Susa V levels delivered
the first evidence of moulds at the site. These stone bivalve moulds for the manufac-
ture of arrowheads or lances had to be tied closed, only one example showing traces
of assembly with tenons and mortises (Tallon 1987: 151).
Shapes show a double influence of Mesopotamia and neighbouring Luristan. In the
time of Susa IV, weapons, tools and luxury objects of Mesopotamian types, known in
particular through the material of the Royal Tombs of Ur, are reproduced, although
the Susa material bears no comparison with the richness and abundance of the Ur
finds. Thus, pins from Susa with fingered heads are similar to those of the hair orna-
ments from the tombs of Ur, and pins ending in a horned genie head were also found
at Ur, Kish, Abu Salabikh and Nippur (Tallon 1987: Nos. 899–906 and 990–993).
A saw with a curved blade is of the same model as the gold specimen from the tomb
of Queen Puabi, also attested in Luristan (Tallon 1987: no. 624). Susa shares with
the Luristan several kinds of tools and weapons, such as sleeved axes with straight
blade, or tubular mace-­heads of which a dozen examples are attested at Susa (Tallon
1987: 130–132, no. 184–187). The production of objects of this type in Luristan,
however, is more inventive (Amiet 1976: 8, no. 5–6). From 2600 BC, Luristan became
an important centre of metallurgical production according to the discoveries coming
from the necropolis from the second half of the 3rd millennium (Haerinck and Over-
laet 2008). Vessels, daggers, mace-­heads and chariot rein-­rings are identical in shape
to those found in Sumer but with a more exuberant decoration testifying to a great
mastery of the lost-­wax technique.
While the tradition of a metal human-­scaled statuary appears in Mesopotamia in
the imperial workshops of the Akkad period (Braun-­Holzinger 1984: 16, no. 49 and

554
 — Metal arts —

23–24, no. 61) and life-­sized sculpture in stone knows its first developments at Susa
during the reign of Puzur-­Inshushinak (ca. 2120 BC), no trace of metal statuary is
attested in Iran for the end of the 3rd millennium. At the time of the domination of
the Ur III kings, the foundation deposits of the temples of Inshushinak and Ninhursag
on the Acropole mound of Susa yielded an exceptional set, very unique in the Iranian
world, of 16 bronze foundation pegs in the name of Shulgi; one of the most coherent
and complete foundation sets known to date (Mecquenem 1905a: 63; Tallon 1987:
308–310, no. 1321–1336; Thomas ed. 2016: 299, no. 362). Each figurine was paired
with a steatite tablet, and each ensemble was placed in a niche set up in the brick
foundation walls of the two temples dedicated respectively to the god Inshushinak
and the goddess Ninursag (Amiet 1976: 48–51, Figure 11–13). The figure – certainly
the king himself – is depicted with bare torso, the pectorals are accentuated, and arms
raised above the head to hold a basket of bricks. A line indicates the top of a skirt that
is not really represented, the lower body merging with the tip of the peg on which the
inscription in Sumerian is engraved. These figurines belong to a type well known in
Mesopotamia, inaugurated by Gudea of Lagash, and whose iconography – the king
as a builder – was known since Early Dynastic III. The Susian pegs were cast rather
coarsely and differ from each other in size and some details. They are said to have
been cast in bivalve moulds, as evidenced by a visible suture line on the side of some
figures (Tallon 1987: 309) but this detail could also be linked to the manufacture of
the wax models themselves in bivalve moulds, the figurines having been produced
using the now-­standard practice of lost-­wax casting. The metal used for all 16 pegs is
a copper with high silver content, a composition significantly different to the copper
mainly used at Susa at the same time. As their iconography suggests, these pegs could
therefore certainly have been imported from Mesopotamia.
The excavations at Susa also yielded a bronze hammer bearing the name of Shulgi,
decorated with two bird’s heads on either side of the collar and a stylized plumage
on the poll (Thomas ed. 2016: 351, no. 421). This kind of ceremonial hammer has
not been found in Mesopotamia but is well documented at Susa and in Luristan.
The same curled plumage ending in loops is still found at the very beginning of the
2nd millennium on a silver votive or ceremonial weapon from a burial at Susa (Tal-
lon 1987: no. 191): the head of this latter hammer is decorated with the head of an
animal or a monster. On other weapons of the same type from Luristan or Central
Asia, the blade issues from the mouth of a creature that projects from the socket.
This particular detail can be seen on the ceremonial weapon offered to Kuk-­Simut,
chancellor of Idadu II, on the impression of the seal offered to him by the governor
of Elam (Amiet 1986: 258, Figure 187). This scene, which can be considered as an
“investiture scene”, illustrates the widespread custom in Elam and Central Asia of
awarding honorary insignia to deserving dignitaries.
Susa metallurgy at the end of the 3rd millennium and the beginning of the 2nd mil-
lennium also indicates links with eastern Iran and Central Asia, the city being at the
center of east-­west trade. But beyond the formal influences, some objects are direct
imports, such as a copper vessel with perforated base with curved lintel motifs whose
shape is very similar to stone objects from eastern Iran and Shahdad in particular,
arsenical copper compartmented seals and a ceremonial axe whose blade is spat by a
dragon head (Tallon 1987: no. 192). This axe, kept through centuries and discovered
in the deposit of the temple of Inshushinak assembled during the Middle-­Elamite

555
 — François Bridey —

period, bears a decoration suggesting a provenance from Central Asia where the ico-
nography of the one-­horned, goateed dragon is well documented between the end of
the 3rd and the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC. It is also to the Oxus civilization
that one must certainly attach a presumed pendant in the form of a bird of prey found
by Mecquenem among the material of the sarcophagus burials of the Ville Royale
mound at Susa (Mecquenem 1934: 210, Figure 53.5). Made in champlevé gold inlaid
with blue enamel paste on the wings and tail, it represents a bird in flight, head for-
ward, wings spread and legs folded up to the body. The same iconography and model
are found on stone pendants or ornamented metal vessels coming from Central Asia
(Amiet 1986: 326, Figure 199; Pittman 1984: 68–69, n°31).
Concerning local productions, the use of bronze is more frequent and became sys-
tematic at the very end of the 3rd millennium and at the beginning of the 2nd mil-
lennium, especially for the manufacture of weapons, tools and even chariot pieces.
Burials of the Susa IV period found on the Ville Royale mound had delivered chariots
whose wheel rims were studded with arsenical copper cone-­headed nails (Tallon 1987:
297–301). At the beginning of the 2nd millennium, chariot wheel rims are wrapped
in copper or bronze bandages (Tallon 1987: 302–306, no. 1304–1307). These rim
bandages are all of the same type, formed by an arched groove in the shape of an arc
provided with fastening lugs which held a rivet passing through the wheels which
could be solid examples. To the same period are dated lost-­wax cast lynch pins with
head in the form of a hedgehog (Tallon 1987: 306, no. 1308–1309). These pieces are
the first attested metal lynch pins decorated with figurative subjects, and inaugurate a
tradition that would perpetuate until the Neo-­Assyrian and Persian periods. The use
of metal for the manufacture of statuary remains limited considering the discoveries
from the excavations, while glyptic, coroplasty and rock reliefs remain the privileged
means of expression for the refinement and richness of the Elamite civilization during
the first centuries of the 2nd millennium. The copper statuette of the “god with the
gold hand” is exceptional in this respect (Amiet 1966: 313, no. 234; Spycket 1981:
228 and Pl. 152; Tallon 1987: no. 1337; Tallon, Hurtel and Drilhon 1989: 122–123).
Originally entirely covered with a gold plating fixed into the groove along the right
side of the body, of which only a tiny fragment remains on the left hand, this statuette
represents a standing male deity wearing the traditional horned tiara and a flounced
garment. It echoes the Babylonian tradition of bronze statuettes plated with precious
metals which are most certainly contemporary (André-­Salvini ed. 2008–2009: 73–81).
The same groove characteristic of this particular plating technique is found, with-
out any trace of the original precious metal leaf, on a statuette of a seated god on a
chariot consisting of two solid cast bronze pieces (Amiet 1966: 318, no. 238; Tallon,
Hurtel and Drilhon 1989: 123–125). The god, dressed in a flounced garment, holds
a branch in his left hand, while the right hand is held to the chest. A coiled serpent
whose head appears at the top adorns his tiara, whose separately made horns are lost:
it may designate the “god with a serpent and flowing waters”. This syncretic figure
of the Elamite pantheon is represented by another statuette, dated with uncertainty
to the first half of the 2nd millennium. The god is seated on a throne formed by the
coils of a snake whose head he holds in his right hand like a sceptre (Amiet 1966:
310, no. 233; Tallon, Hurtel and Drilhon 1989: 12–127). The same iconography is
found from the first centuries of the 2nd millennium on seals and sealings belong-
ing to the Sukkalmahs or high-­ranking Susian dignitaries (Amiet 1972: Figure 2015,

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2016, 2327 and 2330), and on contemporary rock reliefs of Kurangun and Naqsh-­e
Rostam (Amiet 1966: 386–387, nos. 294–295 and 560, no. 427). The deity is leaning
back against a vertical wall adorned at the back with three upright serpents whose
heads are distinctly visible at the front. This wall does not seem to represent the
back of the throne, which does not appear on the other figurations, but rather the
extension of the ground on which it is placed. This statuette belonged probably to a
wider three-­dimensional representation, perhaps an adoration scene showing a royal
worshipper praying to the “god with a serpent and flowing waters”. Some centuries
later, the same scene would adorn the upper register of the stele of Untash-­Napirisha,
king of Anshan and Susa (Miroschedji 1981a).

T H E MIDDLE- ­E LAMITE PE RIO D (1 5 0 0 – 1 0 0 0 B C):

A GOLDEN AGE OF ELAM ITE M E TAL L U RG Y
From the 14th century BC, the kingdom of Elam knew its apogee under the reigns of
the sovereigns of the Igihalkid dynasty and then, in the 12th century BC, Shutrukids.
This period can be considered a golden age for the arts of fire in the Elamite world,
both for the glass and faience industry, whose pigments were metal oxides, and for
metalworking. Concerning this latter artistic domain, the important discoveries made
at Susa are the ultimate testimony to the special place held by Elam in the history of
metallurgy in the Near East. An important deposit discovered on 1st January 1904 on
the Acropole mound, near the temple of Inshushinak, gathered hundreds of diverse
objects of various materials from different periods including tools, weapons, orna-
ments and small statuary elements (Mecquenem 1905a: 61–130). Originally regarded
as a jeweller’s cache, with many shapeless fragments for recasting and numerous silver
and gold repoussé disk pendants with rays emanating from a central boss and small
bosses, this ensemble was subsequently interpreted as an offering deposit or even as
the remains of the funerary material of royal cremation burials similar to those of
Choga Zanbil (Amiet 1966: 390). In any case, this deposit contained an exceptional
collection of small bronze statuettes of worshippers from the end of the Middle-­
Elamite period. They are represented with shaved head or wearing the distinctive
Elamite visor hairstyle, the right hand raised in a gesture of prayer or sometimes bear-
ing an animal offering (Tallon, Hurtel and Drilhon 1989: 128–131). Belonging to the
same tradition are two other worshippers, one in gold, the other in silver, immortal-
ized in the gesture of prayer and offering an animal. These two statuettes were part of
the so-­called “cache of the golden statuette”, an assemblage of offerings interpreted
indifferently as funerary or sacred (Mecquenem 1905b: 131–136 and Harper et al.
1992: 146–148, no. 89–90). The other objects of the deposit, like a lapis lazuli dove
studded with gold or a whetstone with a handle terminating in a gold lion’s head,
confirm the richness and the refinement of the ensemble.
Representing certainly a royal personage, the two statuettes were lost-­wax cast
and fixed to a square copper base. The worshippers are both dressed in a skirt with
dotted ornament and bordered in the bottom with a row of fringes that rise in front
revealing shod feet. The bust does not bear any trace of a garment except small
incised stars at the front. Both have a beard with a well-­marked moustache and a
headdress in the form of a crosshatched cap resembling a net, held at the front by
a thick, rolled-­up mesh. While the garment recalls certain royal representations of

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the time of Untash-­Napirisha (Amiet 1966: 374, no. 282; Spycket 1981: 199), the
hairstyle is unique; it is neither the typical Elamite visor hairstyle worn by Shilhak-­
Inshushinak on the engraved and inscribed chalcedony bead offered by him to his
daughter Bar-­Uli (Amiet 1966: 445, no. 340), nor the characteristic double braids
that complement Shutruk-­Nahhunte’s hairstyle on a usurped Kassite stele (Harper
et al. 1992: 181–182, no. 117). Traditionally attributed to the Middle Elamite period,
the two praying statuettes could be placed earlier in the millennium, at the time of the
Sukkalmahs (Pittman 2003).
Besides these precious samples of small metal statuary, Susa has revealed, like no
other site, important and inestimable material traces of a monumental metal sculp-
ture. This development is due to the Igihalkid ruler Untash-­Napirisha (ca. 1340–1300
BC), who patronized an art of sculpture in the round and in bas-­relief unmatched
before or after. Although these monuments were made to decorate the temples of
the religious capital Choga Zanbil founded by Untash-­Napirisha himself, they were
found mainly in Susa where they were brought by king Shutruk-­Nahhunte in the
12th century BC. The statue of Queen Napirasu, wife of King Untash-­Napirisha, is
the most brilliant representative of this production (Lampre 1905: 245–250; Amiet
1966: 372; Spycket 1981: 313–314). Found in the temple of the goddess Ninhur-
sag but originally located in a temple of Choga Zanbil, the statue is placed after its
Elamite inscription under the protection of the divine triad of the kingdom  – the
gods Napirisha and Inshushinak, and the goddess Kiririsha – and Beltiya, a goddess
assimilated with Ishtar. The queen is represented standing, her right hand covering
her left hand, perhaps in a gesture of prayer. This attitude is common to other high-­
ranking female figures such as Napirasu herself and the king’s mother on the large
Untash-­Napirisha stele, or the Elamite queens represented on the glazed brick reliefs
of the shuter shrine of the Shilhak-­Inshushinak temple (Amiet 1973: 28, Figure 22).
The queen wears a short-­sleeved dress decorated with dotted circles and adorned on
its flared lower portion by a band decorated with dots and zigzags complemented by
wavy fringes. A broad vertical strip, embroidered with geometric motifs, adorns the
front of the skirt. In addition to this garment, the queen carries around the waist a
flounce made of vertical fringes and on her shoulders a shawl made in the same fabric
as the dress and held by a palmette-­shaped fibula. A comparable garment is worn by
the queen on her husband’s stele and by a royal figure represented by a small faience
statuette coming from the temple of Pinikir at Choga Zanbil (Ghirshman 1968: Pls
7.1–3). The separately made head, now lost, must have worn either a turban-­style
headdress as on the female funerary heads found in collective burials of the early
Middle-­Elamite period at Susa (Harper et al. 1992: 136, n. 84), a bowl-­hairstyle as
on a small frit head of Choga Zanbil (Amiet 1966: 360, no. 297), or even braided
hair decorated with bands of precious metal as on the heads of painted unbaked clay
heads found at Haft Tepe (Neghaban 1991: Pls. 24.167 and 169).
The life-­sized scale of the statue, its weight of more than 1,750 kg and its manu-
facturing technique reveal the great skill of Middle-­Elamite metalworkers, who had
to produce other statues as important but known only in a fragmentary state (Amiet
2006: 71–73). Two successive castings were made, one for the bronze core and one for
the shell made of copper alloyed with a low level of tin. It is not yet known precisely
which of these two parts was made first: either the manufacture of the core preceded

558
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that of the shell (Harper et al. 1992: 132–135), or the core was cast from the already
formed outer shell (Meyers 2000). The question remains open and further laboratory
examinations should make it possible in the future to know more about the precise
technical process used. The groove running along the whole side of the sculpture must
have served, as on small sculptures, to fix a plating of gold or silver, but no trace of it
was detected. The Near-­Eastern metalworkers knew how to hollow cast life-­size statues
from the Akkadian period, and this particular technique is well documented in Susa at
the same time for small figurines (Tallon, Hurtel and Drilhon 1989: 137). The reason
for replacing the usual clay core with a bronze nucleus is not clear: the only certainty is
that this process seems to be peculiar to the Susian bronzes and was used for the man-
ufacture of the divine busts adorning a contemporary offerings table ornamented with
serpents (Morgan 1900a: 106; 1900b: 161; Amiet 1966: 383, Figure 291).
Of the husband of Queen Napirasu, the excavations of Choga Zanbil have yielded
among notable metal objects an axe inscribed with the name Untash-­ Napirisha
whose blade issues from the mouth of a lion head (Aruz et al. eds. 2008: 244–245).
A small boar figurine adorns the heel. This object of rare value, displays a rich poly-
chromy by playing on the association of different metals: copper alloy for the socket
and the blade assembled in two parts, silver plating on the blade and electrum for
the boar. A red-­colored paste showing traces of calcium and iron oxides was inlaid
into the cuneiform signs stating the name of the king. The exuberant decoration of
this ceremonial axe – in particular the motif of the blade spat by an animal – recalls
the Elamite and Central Asian traditions of the turn of the 3rd and 2nd millennia, of
which we find here perhaps one of the last testimonies before the Iron Age produc-
tions from Luristan. The object, however, is not unique to the late Bronze Age: an axe
from a small palatial temple of Ugarit, consisting of a lost-­wax cast copper alloyed
socket melted around a meteoritic iron blade and inlaid with gold wire, presents
the same decoration of lion and wild boar, and testifies to the same interest in poly-
chromy (Galliano, G. and Calvet ed. 2004: 166, no. 150).
Making Susa the “museum” of the repatriated masterpieces of Choga Zanbil and
those looted from Mesopotamia, the great Shutrukid kings did not patronize an art
comparable to the brilliant productions of the reign of Untash-­Napirisha. The artis-
tic commissions of Shutruk-­Nahhunte and his successors were essentially limited to
the decorative panels of moulded bricks, sometimes enamelled, adorning the temples
of the tutelary god of the city (Harper et al. 1992: 141–144, no. 88; Amiet 1973).
Several bronze elements consisting of palmate, elliptic and pinnate leaves from the
so-­called foundation deposit of the Inshushinak temple may belong to its architec-
tural decoration (Mecquenem 1905a: 78–80). To the same group belong pointed
stems representing date palm leaves, such as those depicted on moulded brick panels
adorning the outer wall of the kumpum kiduya temple dedicated to the dynastic cult
(Mecquenem 1905a: 80, Figure 183; Amiet 1966: 396–397, no. 299). It is also to the
architectural domain that two bronze “barriers” inscribed with the name of Shilhak-­
Inshushinak (ca. 1150–1120 BC) must be attached. Of large dimensions, one of them
is more than 4.30 meters long, these two elements may have been made using the
technique of sand casting. Their exact function remains enigmatic, but the reading
direction of the inscriptions indicates that these two monuments were certainly des-
tined to be placed horizontally, engaged at their two ends, evoking the idea of barriers

559
 — François Bridey —

or lintels more than that of columns (Jéquier 1905: 36; Scheil 1904: 39–55; Pezard
and Pottier 1926: 115, no. 270– bis).
Of exceptional interest is a large model delivered by the excavations of the Susa
Acropole mound in 1904–1905 (Gautier 1911; Harper et  al. 1992: 137–141). This
object is unique in all the Near East. According to its Elamite inscription, it is a royal
command of Shilhak-­Inshushinak and represents a sit-­shamshi, literally a “sunrise”. In
the centre of the plate delimiting a sacred place, two priests in ritual nudity and with
head shaved, are crouched face to face. They are carrying out their ablutions, one pour-
ing water on the hands of the other. The scene takes place in an open air space between
two stepped buildings, which may represent, without the scale being respected, the two
main temples of the Acropole mound of Susa. Various cultic installations surround
them, such as offering tables and supports, basins, a large jar and trees evoking perhaps
the sacred groves of Elamite religion. All these elements echo similar installations found
on the southeast esplanade of the ziggurat of Choga Zanbil, the same place where the
rising sun appeared. The exact significance of this cult scene at sunrise, a prelude to the
offerings and sacrifices that give rhythm to the day, is not known. The possible discov-
ery of this model in an Elamite tomb may, however, indicate that such a ceremony was
held during a royal funeral rite (Amiet 1966: 392, no. 297; Grillot 1983: 12).
Beyond the importance of its representation, this sit-­shamshi is also a valuable
testimony to the high level of technical skill of the Middle-­Elamite metalworkers. It
consists of a cast support, with pyramidal offering tables, basins and pillars being
cast together with it. The two officiants were lost-­wax cast, made separately and then
fixed to the model. The two temples and the jar, hollow cast in a different bronze with
a higher content of tin and by using copper of a different provenance, according to
the analysis of the trace elements, were fixed to the support with pins. The high level
of gold and silver detected on the surface of the larger stepped temple indicates per-
haps the presence of a precious metal plating (Harper et al. 1992: 140–141).
Another important piece of metalwork from the Middle-­Elamite period is an
inscribed bronze bas-­relief considered by Jacques de Morgan the “first truly Elamite
artistic monument” discovered at Susa in 1900 (Morgan 1900c: 163–164; Amiet
1966: 404, no. 305; Börker-­Klähn 1982: no. 123). It is, in fact, a fragment of a larger
monument whose decoration was organized in at least two registers. In the lower reg-
ister are engraved two birds pecking among some trees. In the upper register, cast in
relief, is a procession of seven warriors oriented to the right. Represented in the atti-
tude of walking, left foot forward, they raise their right hand holding a throwing stick
over their head, their left hand holding a bow. They carry a quiver at the back and a
dagger slipped into the belt of their short garment. These same warriors, whose atti-
tude and iconography recall the representations of storm gods of the Syro-­Anatolian
world (Alvarez-­Mon 2014: 31), wear a hairstyle with a horn depicted in profile, des-
ignating them as divinized royal ancestors or, more probably, warlike divinities. They
wear a hairstyle with a single side braid. This same hairstyle, but with a double rather
than single side-­braid, is worn by royal figures on the already mentioned stele of
Shilhak-­Inshushinak from Susa (Harper et al. 1992: 181–182, Figure 117) and on the
reliefs of Shikaft-­i Salman near Izeh-­Malamir. These reliefs, usurped by the local king
Hanni in the 7th century BC, must be attributed to the time of the Shutruk-­Nahhunte
dynasty (Jéquier 1901: 32–33; De Waele 1981: 51–52). Even if its iconography and
Elamite inscription mentioning sacrifices to non-­Susian deities (König 1965: no. 68)

560
 — Metal arts —

may link this monument to the artistic tradition of the Iranian plateau and suggest
that it was imported to Susa, perhaps by Shutruk-­Nahhunte himself (Amiet 1988:
107), this bas-­relief nevertheless belongs technically to the manufacture of the great
Middle-­Elamite bronzes of Susa.
Rescued from looting, destruction and recycling, all of these great bronze monu-
ments are precious testimonies to an art and to techniques which disappear progres-
sively at the end of the 12th century BC with the taking of Susa by the Babylonians
and the beginnings of “dark ages” in the history of the kingdom of Elam.

TH E M ETALLURGY OF THE NE O - E
­ L AM ITE P E RIO D :
TRADITION AND RE NE WAL
At the end of the 8th century BC, archaeological and epigraphic sources attest to
the rebirth of Susa and the brief renewal of the Elamite kingdom, before its destiny
became definitively tied into the empire of Cyrus the Great. In Susa, the luxurious
material found in large family tombs reveals in particular this renewed prosperity
(Amiet 1966: 480–481). The metalwork appears, in light of the discoveries, less pros-
perous than in the 2nd millennium BC, and bears witness to the affinities of Susiana
with Luristan and the cultures of northern Iran, between the Lake Urmiah and the
Caspian Sea. Amongst the jewellery are gold earring pendants in the shape of a bunch
of grapes with granulated decoration of a type dating back to the last centuries of the
2nd millennium BC and widely spread in Northern Iran, at Marlik, Hasanlu and up
to Tepe Sialk (Amiet 1966: 475, no. 357; Neghaban 1989: 183–186, Pl. II; Ghirsh-
man 1938–1939: XCV, S. 1476b and S. 1755). Long pins with a stem of iron  – a
metal that made its first appearance at the turn of the 2nd and 1st millennia BC – are
characteristic of the Neo-­Elamite period. Their biconical or ovoid heads are modelled
in bitumen mixed with siliceous earth, and clad with copper or gold sheets. The most
beautiful examples bear filigree decoration (Miroschedji 1981b: Figure 40, no. 4–5,
Connan and Deschenes 1996: 371–374, no. 492a-­h, no. 493a-­e). Such pins have
also been discovered in Luristan (Vanden Berghe 1973: 25, Figure 28–29), and in a
Neo-­Elamite princely tomb near Ramhormoz, where the most precious specimens are
enhanced with chalcedony (Shishegar 2015: 22, Figure 11, no. 6.1–6.19).
Copper alloy bracelets with ends flattened into the shape of a fan are also char-
acteristic of the same period, while others ending in animal head terminals initiate
a tradition that would have a great future in the Achaemenid period. One of the
Neo-­Elamite vaulted tombs at Susa also delivered a pair of bronze handles originally
belonging to a platter or basin (Amiet 1966: 476–477, no. 358). They are each dec-
orated with a passant bull related stylistically to figures that adorn contemporary
faience vessels. This kind of handle is known especially from Hasanlu, where at least
three basins with handles are attested. Two pairs of these handles in particular, one
decorated with birds of prey and another with a kneeling hero mastering two ibexes,
present the same curved-­shape elements to facilitate the prehension of the object
(Muscarella 1988: 26–29, no. 6 and Figure 4; Winter 1980: 92, fig).
Metal statuary, if such an artistic production had been maintained, is very poorly
represented for this period. The “find of the silver mask” discovered by Morgan in
the Acropolis mound in 1903 is a rare example (Morgan 1905: 43–47, Pl. VII–IX).
This heterogeneous deposit of objects was found in a wooden trunk with metallic

561
 — François Bridey —

garnitures, and contained, besides cylinder seals, a silver mask and hands belonging
to the figure of a worshipper presenting an offering. These elements must have been
originally applied to a statue of wood or other organic material that has now dis-
appeared. A silver head of a sceptre in the shape of a serpent and two faience wigs
decorated with bronze, gold or silver nails completed this deposit. These elements
provide evidence of a new well-­established tradition of composite statuary. The statu-
ette of a worshipper with a dog from the early excavations carried out by Marcel and
Jane Dieulafoy in 1885–1886 is the only testimony of a small, cast sculpture at Susa
(Dieulafoy 1893: 278–279). The bearded figure, wearing a garment crossing over his
chest, carries his right hand in front of his mouth as a sign of prayer, and the other
holds a large seated dog by its neck. Similar figurines have been found in Mesopota-
mia, at Isin or Nippur, and also in Greece at the Heraion of Samos among a series of
bronze objects imported from Babylonia (Braun-­Holzinger 1984: 93–96, Pl. 62–64).
The statuette of Susa is certainly also of Babylonian origin. These worshippers with a
dog were sometimes considered as protective figures of the buildings with which they
were associated, but they could instead be votive offerings made to Gula, goddess of
medicine, whose animal attribute was a dog (Thomas ed. 2016: 243, No. 267).
These few elements from Susa are completed for the Neo-­Elamite period by the
contemporary material of the tombs of Arjan and Ramhormoz. These two well-­dated
assemblages each offer important testimonies to the Elamite metal art, still alive in the
1st millennium BC. Discovered in 1982, the so-­called Arjan tomb, in the vicinity of
the modern town of Behbahan, delivered an exceptional assemblage, including four
metal objects inscribed with the name “Kidin-­Hutran, son of Kurluš”, dated 600–575
BC (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a). The tomb contained a U-shaped bronze coffin in which the
body lay surrounded by precious material including: numerous rosette-­shaped gold
appliques that had originally adorned a cotton garment; an iron-­bladed dagger with
an ivory guard decorated with granulated gold leaf, a rosette encrusted in champlevé
and an agate mounted in gold; a silver straw fitted with a filter; and an exceptional
gold “ring” flattened at its extremities into a fan. This unique object, whose shape
recalls bracelets known in Elam since the 2nd millennium BC, is adorned on each
finial disc with two lion-­headed griffins in heraldic position on either side of a small
palmette motif. Although this motif belongs to a well-­established tradition in Elam, it
is nourished here by Assyrian and Babylonian influences, and announces the figures
of griffins favoured by the artists of the Achaemenid period. Outside the coffin were
a silver jar, and a series of objects in bronze: a candelabrum, a conical-­shaped lamp, a
jar, a rhyton with four heads of lions engraved at the lip-­level with a series of running
ostriches, a bowl with engraved decoration and ten chalice-­like vessels (Alizadeh 1985;
Álvarez-­Mon 2010a). The bowl, assimilated with Syro-­Phoenician productions, mixes
Egyptian, Assyrian and Elamite influences. Its decoration is organised within concen-
tric registers that depict scenes of hunting, tribute offering, banqueting and music,
exalting the royal function and delivering a cosmological vision of the world (Majidza-
deh 1990; Álvarez-­Mon 2004). The 75 cm high candelabra, with its summit supported
by six lions and its triangular pedestal decorated with figures of atlantes and lions, and
finished with bull protomes, testifies to the vitality of an Elamite art whose formulas
strongly announce the art of the Achaemenid period (Álvarez-­Mon 2010b).
Candelabras of the same type but with less exuberant decor were found in the Ram-
hormoz tomb discovered in 2007, containing two bronze U-shaped “bathtub” coffin

562
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burials identified as belonging to princesses of the house of king Shutur-­Nahhunté,

son of Indada (Shishegar 2015). These coffins were made of metal sheets assembled
and riveted together by strips of bronze, according to a technique already seen at
Arjan. Besides the similarities with the tomb of Arjan, these sarcophagi are related
to a tradition also attested in Ur and Nimrud in the 8th and 7th century BC (Wicks
2015). The grave goods included several hundred objects of gold, silver, bronze and
iron, as well as stone and faience. These finds included five more candelabras: a com-
plete example and two fragmentary ones with a triangular pedestal decorated with
bulls or horses and two of a simpler form with a tripod base with feet ending in duck
heads. The tomb also delivered a great number of small appliqués intended to be
sewed onto fabrics, bracelets and gold beads, sometimes enhanced with semi-­precious
stones. There were also “rings” with fan-­shaped flattened ends characteristic of the
Neo-­Elamite period and already encountered in a developed form at Arjan (Shishegar
2015: 145–146), and gold bracelets with solid cast or inlaid limestone terminals in the
shape of lion or gazelle heads which announce Achaemenid productions (Shishegar
2015: 153–155). A large flat gold bracelet decorated with granulation and chalcedony
is to be compared with the discoveries made in the royal tombs of Nimrud (Shishegar
2015: 159–160, Oates and Oates 2001: Pl. 6a). Among the many vessels in bronze or
silver, chalices and vessels of the “ink-­well” type are the most characteristic (Shishegar
2015: 330–332 and 336–338; Wicks forthcoming a). These latter vases, made from
hammered metal sheet, all have a slightly tapered neck with a very flared rim, a well-­
defined shoulder, almost horizontal and a belly with a moulded profile. This type of
vessel is well documented in the main Iron Age III Luristan sites, at Susa, and also in
the Neo-­Babylonian levels of Uruk (Mecquenem 1943: 50, Figure 42, Figure 4 and 6;
Miroschedji 1981b: Pl. 40.12; Haerinck and Overlaet 1999: 30; 2004: Pl. 142–143).
In the tomb of Ramhormoz, a variant of these vessels is provided with a handle and
a long double-­elbowed spout, making them look like teapots (Shishegar 2015: 340–
341 and 367). But the most exceptional pieces are large, shallow circular dishes with
a long handle, adorned at the junction of the dish and the handle with a cast figure of
a woman-­fish, fixed using small rivets. Five examples in bronze – of which only one
is complete – and a complete silver copy were deposited in the tomb (Shishegar 2015:
302, 304–309 and 372–373; Wicks forthcoming b). The small ornamental figurines
represent women wearing a flounced dress, bracelets and a heavy necklace whose
counterweight descends down the back. The base of their back extends into the body
of a fish whose head is not represented. Their plaited bouffant-­style hair looks like
one of the two votive wigs from “the find of the silver mask” at Susa (Morgan 1905:
Pl. IX) and the coiffure of the spinning-­woman depicted on a bitumen bas-­relief of the
same origin (Amiet 1966: 540, Figure 413). The seated fish-­women stretch out their
hands as if to present an object. A similar figure belongs to the collections of the Brit-
ish Museum, said to be from Tang-­i-­Sarvak in the Bakhtiari moutains (Amiet 1966:
314–315, no. 235). The association of an anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figure
could suggest that these were representations of divinities, although they are devoid
of a horned tiara or any other divine emblem. They could also be figures of worship-
pers, like the figure represented standing, hands clasped, dressed and coiffured in a
similar way, most certainly serving as a handle of an unidentified instrument (a mir-
ror?), from the same grave (Shishegar 2015: 312). Mirrors, combs and weapons with
iron blades, further complemented the rich furnishings of these burials.

563
 — François Bridey —

The metallic material of the Neo-­Elamite period, even if it reveals no technical

innovation, except for the use of iron, which would become widespread in the
following centuries, testifies to the renewed vitality of an art that had developed
immensely during the 2nd millennium BC. These pieces, as well as stone sculp-
tures, attesting of important iconographic developments, allow us to glimpse the
originality of an art that was able to renew and enrich the canons inherited from
classical Elamite art, drawing from beyond the Iranian world in the Assyrian or
Babylonian repertoires and initiating stylistic evolutions that would be set in the
Achaemenid period. The precious vessels and goldwork of which the Persians were
particularly fond, according to Greek historians, or the rare testimonies of metal
sculpture, bear witness to an ever-­greater concern for refinement as well as for an
eclectic and cosmopolitan style, synthesizing the expressions of the present and the
inheritances of the past for translating the ideal of tolerance and universalism of
the Persian kings.

NOTE
*  Translated from French by Javier Álvarez-Mon and Yasmina Wicks.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE INDUSTRY OF VITREOUS

MATERIALS IN ELAM

Noëmi Daucé*

I n the introduction to his seminal work, Pierre Amiet in 1966 highlighted “the fun-
damental originality” of Elam (Amiet 1966: 24), an entity whose chronological and
geographical boundaries were still to be detailed. At that time, Elamite civilization
was primarily documented through excavations conducted at Susa, Choga Zanbil
and Haft Tepe, supplemented by Elamite and Mesopotamian cuneiform sources. This
originality results firstly from its unique alliance of complementary territories, the
Susiana Plain on one side and the mountainous hinterland of Iran’s southwest on
the other, and secondly from its material culture which, although regularly subject to
the influence of its Mesopotamian neighbours, outlines the contours of a consistent
cultural community. The industry of glass materials, which expanded in the second
half of the second millennium BC and was nourished by Syro-­Mesopotamian inno-
vations while adapting to new media and new functions, certainly epitomizes one of
the superior facets of Elamite culture.
Considered as vitreous materials are all artificial materials entirely or partially
vitrified, namely, besides glass, all objects covered with vitreous glaze, whatever the
nature of their media: soft rock, siliceous paste or a clay paste. The nature of these
materials, which poorly resist the conditions of burial, has long represented a hin-
drance for archaeologists. In 1994, Roger Moorey deplored the lack of research on
these materials as well as the wide disparities between terminologies used in the
archaeological literature, terminologies which vary from one language to another
(Moorey 1994: 166). This lacuna has been largely filled in the course of the past
two decades, particularly in the context of research specifically dedicated to siliceous
paste.
Pierre Amiet’s publication (1966; 1967) and 20 years later Suzanne Heim’s (1989)
doctorate devoted to Elamite glazed architectural decoration, as well as the import-
ant work of Moorey, can be regarded as precursors. Subsequently, the development
of research programs dedicated to vitreous materials and the development of archae-
ometry opened the way for the exploration of new problems, in particular the iden-
tification of raw materials, techniques and their circulation and transfer. In the early
2000s, the department of the Near Eastern Antiquities in the Musée du Louvre and
the Centre de Recherche et de Restauration des Musées de France led major campaigns

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 — Industry of vitreous materials —

of scientific analyses of vitreous material in the collections department (Caubet et al.

2007). A temporary exhibition Faiences antiques, de l’Egypte à l’Iran (Caubet and
Pierrat Bonnefois 2005) allowed the observation of this production on a larger scale
under the prism of Egyptian and Mesopotamian production. The important work
led by M.S. Titus and A.J. Shortland at Oxford University has also shed light on this
specific production.
Before exploring the peculiarities of Elamite production using examples from the
sites of Susa, Choga Zanbil, Haft Tepe and Anshan (Tell -i Malyan), integrated into
the wider context of vitreous material industry in the Near East, we will first outline
the terminology now unanimously accepted to describe the different types of materi-
als that are the subject of this review.
With the exception of glazed baked clay, vitreous materials are made from sim-
ilar, easily accessible, ingredients: sand, quartz powder and plant ash provide their
main components, namely, silica, lime, soda and potash. They only differ in recipes
and proportions. However, to manufacture these synthetic materials requires spe-
cialized craftsmen with highly developed skills, able, among other competencies,
to control high temperatures. As such, objects in vitreous materials have long been
considered objects of prestige and ceremony. The following development explores
differences and similarities amongst archaeological faïence, frit, glass and glazed
terracotta.

ARCHAEOLOGICAL FAIE NCE

Since the mid-­twentieth century, archaeological faience has been defined as an arti-
ficial material made of siliceous paste covered with glaze. The nature of this paste
distinguishes it from modern faience: clay ceramics with lead glaze opacified with
tin that were produced from the beginning of the fifteenth century in the Italian city
of Faenza. The popularity of these products was such that the name of the city was
bequeathed to them.
The body of archaeological faience is a mixture composed of more than 90% of
a fine powder of quartz or sand to which is added an alkali flux to lower the melting
temperature and water to make it plastic and malleable. In Elam, this alkali flux is
mainly made of vegetable ash (Caubet et al. 2007: 26). Shaping and glazing are per-
formed before firing. Because of their viscosity, siliceous pastes are difficult to turn. In
the Elamite world, as in Mesopotamia and Egypt, artisans therefore favour modeling
and molding techniques for making figurines, decorative bricks and plates, vases,
cylinder seals and faience beads.
The glaze, alkaline in antiquity, is applied after shaping. It is most often a liquid
paste composed of the same ingredients as glass but with a higher concentration of
silica and a lower concentration of lime. This paste is coloured by the addition of
metal oxides: copper oxide, which gives a green or blue color, is the most frequently
used colorant in the early periods; lead antimonate is later used for yellow; cobalt
blue for a more intense blue; manganese oxide and iron for black or brown glazes.
Glaze may be applied to different supports: soft rocks, siliceous paste or clay paste,
they transform their appearance and impart colour, gloss and impermeability. In the
Elamite world, glazes are applied exclusively by immersion or painting, the glaze
being then applied to its support with a brush.

569
 — Noëmi Daucé —

Firing between 800°C and 1000°C results in the cementing in the vitreous phase
of the quartz grains comprising the body of the faience and in the vitrification of the
surface glaze. After firing, faience becomes generally whitish and coarse grains are
visible to the naked eye. It is more or less friable and takes on an aspect sometimes
qualified as saccharoidal (Caubet et al. 2007: 13). Faience differs from glass only in
its firing temperature, which is less elevated.
As all publications devoted to this material highlight, the origins of faience pro-
duction in the Near East, in Egypt or in the Indus Valley (Bouquillon and Barthelemy
Saizieu 2000), are little known. Because of their nature and state of conservation,
beads and small adornments were little documented during early excavations. More-
over, the earliest objects in faience are sometimes difficult to identify and to distin-
guish from frit or soft stone ornaments such as those in glazed steatite. Considering
the territory that would later correspond to the Elamite world, Moorey (1994: 172)
cites the discovery of a blue faience bead at the site of Tall-­i Mushki in Fars, in a level
dating to the end of the 7th millennium BC, contemporary with the Mesopotamian
culture of Hassuna. According to the evidence, however, this bead was intrusive in an
earlier level. Some isolated findings likely reflect the occurrence and the development
of faience techniques from the sixth and fifth millennium. For instance, the grave of
a child at Qabr Sheykheyn in Khuzestan delivered some bracelets of faience beads at
the end of the fifth millennium (Moorey 1994: 172). Nonetheless, these attestations
are still very rare compared, for instance, to the thousands of glazed steatite and
faience beads attested in North Syria during the same period. Faience becomes only
truly visible in the end of the fourth millennium in Iran.

F RIT
Frit, which is often confused with faience, is made of the same ingredients but is not
covered with glaze (Moorey 1994: 167). In the industry of vitreous materials, metal
oxides used as colorants are sometimes unstable: they are water-­soluble or volatile
at high temperatures. Frit manufacture favours their stabilisation by firing all of the
components at low temperature in an oxidizing atmosphere, until a coloured bisque
is obtained. Frit can then be directly worked or can serve in turn as a pigment for the
fabrication of other small objects whose fabric is then coloured throughout (Caubet
and Pierrat-­Bonnefois 2005: 13).

GLAS S
Glass is an artificial material whose amorphous structure, that is to say, non-­crystalline,
is relatively transparent and translucent. Like all vitreous materials, it consists of very
accessible ingredients, mainly sand or crushed quartz pebbles that provide the neces-
sary amounts of silica. In order to lower their melting temperature (1713°C) and to
facilitate the shaping of the objects, a flux, soda or potash, and a lime stabilizer are
added. Metal oxides may be added to the mixture to colour the paste, and adding
opacifing agents can make it opaque. All these ingredients are brought to melting
point at a temperature of about 1200°C. Thus, raw material blocks, glass ingots, are
obtained and these can then be reworked by heating again. Because of its structure,
glass, like metal and unlike faience, is in fact recyclable: ingots and broken fragments

570
 — Industry of vitreous materials —

can be passed again through the oven and melted for new uses (Caubet and Pierrat-­
Bonnefois 2005: 14).
One generally distinguishes between primary workshops that produce the raw
glass ingots and the secondary or processing workshops that shape finished objects.
But as will be discussed later, no glass workshop, primary or secondary, is yet attested
with certainty in the Elamite world.

GLAZED TERRACOTTA
While ceramic in the Near East dates back to the Neolithic, glazed terracotta appears
only later. The invention of this latter technique, which is very different from painted
pottery, is closely linked to the development of the vitreous materials industry. A clay
body, usually a kind of marl, is covered with alkaline glaze (Caubet et al. 2007: 15).
The firing in an oxidizing atmosphere at a temperature of about 1000°C enables the
covering applied to the paste to vitrify. Glazed terracotta is used from the second half
of the second millennium in Elam, as in Mesopotamia, to manufacture different cate-
gories of ceremonial furniture: architectural designs, ceremonial vessels, monumental
sculpture and so on. It becomes increasingly popular during the first millennium until
it permanently replaces faience in the Seleucid era.

A world on the margins of the principal innovations

(3000–1500 BC)
Between 3000 and 1500 BC, while the production of faience rose and expanded in
Egypt with the development of figurines, game boards and even architectural decora-
tion (Caubet and Pierrat-­Bonnefois 2005: 35), this specific material was reserved in
the Near East for small luxury objects; mostly jewellery, glyptic and vessels. Further
east, evidence is scarcer. The ancient site of Susa, located on the northwestern edge of
the Khuzistan plain, halfway between the Mesopotamian plain and the southeastern
Iranian plateau, has provided much of the material that is discussed below.
Susa’s long occupation sequence, from the first settlements at the end of the fifth
millennium BC until the site was abandoned in the thirteenth century AD, makes it
one of the best testimonies to the production of objects in vitreous materials, espe-
cially for the earliest periods. Because of its location, Susa lived throughout the ages
in the rhythm of a complex dialectic between the ebb and flow of Mesopotamian
influence and the assertion of its Elamite identity, autonomy and cultural uniqueness.
In early times, Susa’s discoveries are very modest, quite a distant echo of the techno-
logical development happening in the Near East. Even if a native craft existed at that
time, most of the faiences are probably imports flowing from one region to another,
reflecting the different swings of the balance between the Mesopotamian plain and
the Elamite plateau.
The first faience objects dated with certainty appeared in the end of the fourth
millennium during the Late Uruk Period when contacts between Susiana and the
Mesopotamian plain became closer, as evidenced by their similar material cul-
tures. Two small faience “eye idols”, originally covered by a blue or green glaze,
demonstrate these close links. These intriguing objects, with their bell-­shaped
body topped with two perforated circles belong to a typology widely attested in

571
 — Noëmi Daucé —

Mesopotamia and northern Syria during the Late Uruk Period. Whether they are
to be considered as votive figurines or as spinning weights (Caubet et  al. 2007:
102) is still under discussion. The two examples from Susa are certainly the only
samples in faience attested to-­date, yet nothing allows us to consider them as local
products.
Later on, around 3100 BCE, major changes occur at Susa. Western influence
decreased significantly with the collapse of the Uruk Period civilisation, whereas links
with the highlands of Southern Iran in the east became tighter. The Proto-­Elamite
culture (3100–2750 BC), with its specific art and writing, developed and spread from
Fars towards Susa. At that time, faience production increased slowly, being firstly
used for glyptic, one of the main artistic achievement of the Proto-­Elamites alongside
sculpture. Faience cylinder seals of both Mesopotamian and local origin then coexist
in Susa. A series of so-­called “popular” cylinder seals (Amiet 1972: 111) in faience
or baked steatite originated in Mesopotamia. Their rectilinear geometric decoration
contrasts with more elaborate compositions, mainly of animal inspiration, and the
sculptural quality of Proto-­Elamite productions (Amiet 1988: 57). Another produc-
tion of baked steatite cylinders whose production centers reside along the western
edge of the Susiana increases in parallel (Amiet 1972: 143). Their stylistic treatment,
with flat engraved figures and strong highlighted grooves, integrates them into the
sphere of Proto-­Elamite productions, diffused across both southeast Iran on the Ira-
nian plateau and central Mesopotamia.
From the middle of the third millennium, Susa rejoined the Mesopotamian milieu,
integrating into the network of small Sumerian city-­states before being absorbed into
the Akkadian empire.
Faience cylinders of Guti tradition dating to the period of Akkadian domination
have been discovered at Susa. These were often decorated with a horned master of
animals, testifying to the presence of mountain people from the Iranian foothills in
the plain of Susa (Amiet 1972: 195).
Susa took part in the broad network of long-­distance exchange that characterized
the second half of the third millennium. A faience vessel fragment found in the “vase
à la cachette” (Harper et al. 1992: 109) reflects this integration. It belongs to a cate-
gory of small vases often covered with a blue-­green glaze, which reproduce in faience
vessels made of fine ceramic, stone and metal. A burial on the tell of the Ville Royale
dated to the second half of the third millennium has delivered a very similar carinated
vase, as well as small faience cups in the shape of shells and a couchant goat figurine
comparable to Akkadian figurines discovered in a tomb at Ashur dated to the same
period (Caubet et al. 2007: 104; Amiet 1966: 234). While we do not know whether
all of these objects are imported or locally produced, they intersect very clearly with
contemporary Mesopotamian productions.
During the Middle Bronze Age, Egyptian and Levantine workshops once again
prove their dynamism and multiply their innovations (Caubet and Pierrat-­Bonnefois
2005: 35–43). The Egyptian Middle Kingdom established the golden age of faience
figurines, among which small hippopotamuses are certainly the most celebrated. The
techniques of fashioning testify to a perfectly mastered savoir faire, particularly in
the area of glaze achieved by immersion, application or efflorescence. In Syria, as in
Anatolia, faience remains a luxury and expensive material, often found in palatial
settings, which have delivered traces of fabrication workshops.

572
 — Industry of vitreous materials —

At Susa, on the other hand, the technique remains in its infancy at the margins
of this phenomenon, incomparable with the qualitative and quantitative threshold
that would later be crossed by Elamite craftsmen in the second half of the second
millennium.
Under the reigns of the Shimashki sovereigns and then the Sukkalmahs, who
adopted the double title “king of Susa and Anshan”, artistic production experienced
a significant renewal, particularly in the field of metallurgy and ceremonial vessels.
Bitumen mastic products were also particularly prestigious. The development of met-
allurgy, which involves the mastering of viscous materials processed at high tem-
peratures, such as that of the technique of annealing (Henderson 2013: 4), fostered
without doubt a favourable framework for the experimentation and accumulation of
know-­how comparable to that required for vitreous materials. Yet the production of
faience remained underdeveloped: only a few ornaments such as a grotesque head of
Humbaba, a pendant bead of Babylonian tradition (Caubet et al. 2007: 104; Amiet
1966: 268) and rare fragments of figurines are to be mentioned. One is a small smil-
ing head with inlays, which perhaps reflects a more Elamite inspiration, unless it is
considered a local imitation of the removable heads of Central Asian statuary (Amiet
1966: 285).

The Middle Elamite period: the golden age of innovation

The middle of the second millennium marked a significant break: in the Elamite
world and in the entire Near East, the vitreous materials industry experienced an
incomparable technological leap with the diversification of faience production and
above all with the appearance of new materials such as glass and glazed terracotta.
In the Elamite kingdom, this technological effervescence can be observed mainly in
the Susiana plain: in the fifteenth century at Haft Tepe (ancient Kabnak), the seat of
the king Tepti-­Ahar, but even more so a century later at Choga Zanbil and Susa, first
under the leadership of Untash-­Napirisha (ca. 1340–1300 BC) and then of the Shut-
rukid rulers during the twelfth century.
Located 40 km southeast of Susa, the holy city of Choga Zanbil, or Dur Untash-­
Napirisha, was the major achievement of the reign of Untash-­Napirisha. Baptized
in the name of its sponsor, it covered an area of almost 100 hectares and comprised
a ziggurat, temples and a palace surrounded by a wall of over 4  km length. The
intensive building activity (Potts 1999: 2012) sponsored by the fourth ruler of the
Igihalkid dynasty provided a climate conducive to the development and improvement
of know-­how in the field of vitreous industry. Technological innovations became
more and more numerous with the growth and development of the art of faience
and glass, adapted particularly to architectural decoration: the introduction of poly-
chrome glazes and the development of glazed terracotta. Leading a vast empire,
Untash-­Napirisha was able to mobilize significant cohorts of workers and artisans to
complete the construction of Choga Zanbil. The extent of this labor mobilization is
reflected in the breadth and variety of material remains uncovered. While the vitreous
materials industry was very limited in previous eras in the Elamite world, its unprec-
edented expansion at this time raises many questions. The Middle Elamite kingdom
adopted and adapted the innovations that had appeared in northern Mesopotamia,
at Nuzi in the heart of the Mitannian kingdom, about two centuries earlier. Did the

573
 — Noëmi Daucé —

close links between the Igihalkid dynasty and the Kassite dynasty promote the trans-
fer of savoir faire or the mobility of certain artisans? Due to the lack of sufficient
archaeological and historical evidence, this question remains open.
Among the new materials, glass was widely employed at Choga Zanbil, both in
architectural decor, with polychrome glass tubes enlivening door panels and circu-
lar appliques enhancing knobbed plaques, and in glyptics and small votive objects
(anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines, maces). Whatever their function may
have been, all testify to a mastery of shaping methods, whether casting or mounting
on a clay core, or the technique of annealing to perfect finishings.
The invention of glass, whose components are the same as faience but brought to
melting point, dates back to the third millennium in Egypt and the Near East (Caubet
et al. 2007: 14). Its production was perfected at the end of the Middle Bronze Age,
between 1650 and 1500, especially in the workshops of the Mitanni kingdom.
During the Bronze Age, glass circulated in the form of ingots produced in so-­called
primary workshops in Egypt or the Near East. The content of the wreck of Ulu Burun
with its 350 kg of glass is one of the most compelling stories of the Mediterranean,
but ingots discovered in Failaka equally illustrate their circulation in a more eastern
network (Pulak 2008: 314). Even if the originality and quantity of the products of
Choga Zanbil implies local production, the craftsmen probably worked from small
blocks of imported raw material. The location of these processing plants is still uncer-
tain, although Ghirshman (1966: 95) mentions the presence of workshops and kilns
in the annexes of the west temple of Kiririsha which, according to him, were ded-
icated to the production of small votive objects like the manufacturing workshops
associated with Mesopotamian temples.
Glazed terracotta is another of the major innovations of the Middle Elamite period,
appearing once again under the leadership of Untash-­Napirisha at Choga Zanbil.
This material is attested in the field of architectural decoration, favoured for the pro-
duction of knobbed plaques and the manufacture of remarkable monumental animal
door guardians [Figure 28.1]. Hence, a bull covered with blue glaze was placed at one
of the entrances to the ziggurat, on the steps of the northeast stairs (Ghirshman 1966:
57) [Figure 28.1c]. Housed in the Tehran National Museum, it bears an inscription
of 16 lines indicating the name of its sponsor, Untash-­Napirisha, and its dedication to
Inshushinak. In this dedication Untash-­Napirisha takes credit for being the first sov-
ereign to have used this material (Potts 1999: 225–226). Measuring nearly 1.3 m in
height and apparently modeled over a bronze core for support, this statue is indeed a
true technical feat. Other remains of very damaged door guardian animals were also
found at the various entrances to the ziggurat, among which were at least two griffins
(Ghirshman 1966: 40) [Figure 28.1b]. In the twelfth century, the Shutrukids adopted
this technique and near the temple of Inshushinak on the Susa acropolis placed a pair
of imposing protective glazed terracotta lions [Figure 28.1a] whose dimensions once
again reveal a great technical achievement (Amiet 1988: 106; Caubet and Pierrat
Bonnefois 2005: 90).
The introduction of these new materials was immediately perceived as a major
innovation, to the point that from the reign of Untash-­Napirisha new Elamite terms
appear to describe them. Glazed terracotta, for instance, was designated by the term
mushi. Thereafter, the Shutrukid rulers (1190–1120) proclaimed the invention of a
new architectural decoration technique implementing a highly siliceous paste called

574
 Figure 28.1  Monumental glazed terracotta sculpture: temple gate
guardians: [a] Lion from Susa (photograph courtesy RMN-Grand Palais,
Musée du Louvre/Franck Raux); [b] Griffin from Choga Zanbil (photograph
J. Álvarez-­Mon; Museum of Susa); [c] Bull from Choga Zanbil (photograph
J. Álvarez-­Mon; National Museum of Iran).
 — Noëmi Daucé —

u-­pa-­at ak-­ti-­in-­ni-­ma or upat aktiya which, when formed into decorative brick, imi-
tates stone, a particularly rare resource in the region. As testified in Egypt and Mes-
opotamia (Caubet and Pierrat-­Bonnefois 2005: 29), the different techniques of glass
materials were also granted a special status in the texts. The interpretation of the
various terms, however, remains difficult because of insufficient written sources to
illuminate the different recipes of the workshops.

The variety of architectural decoration: an Elamite originality

If the emergence of these new materials, glass and glazed terracotta, in the Elamite
world is part of an international trend, their use in the field of architectural decora-
tion is a local singularity, which continued until the end of the Neo-­Elamite period
and was inherited by the Achaemenid empire.
As in Mesopotamian architecture, Elamite buildings were constructed of mud-­
bricks, the most prestigious ones being covered with a facing of baked brick. Since
the construction of the first monumental buildings in Susa, namely, the high terrace
erected on the Susa acropolis, different types of decoration had been employed for
both exterior and interior walls in order to bring to life the sometimes-­dull brick
facings: whether clay nails coated with paint like those of Malyan in the Banesh
period (Heim 1989: 100), or plaster coating engraved with geometric patterns, as
in the halls of the “funerary temple” at Haft Tepe (Negahban 1991: 14). During the
Middle Elamite era, first under the reign of Tepti-­Ahar in the fifteenth century and
then under the Igihalkid and Shutrukid dynasties, vitreous materials were used for
the first time to animate the walls of prestigious buildings. Newly emergent forms of
architectural decoration, sometimes inscribed, were remarkable for their diversity:
antefixes or knobbed plaques, decorative nails, figurative protomes and siliceous
bricks.
The knobbed or antefix plaques were made of clay or siliceous paste up to several
centimers in thickness. Square in shape, they were perforated at the center to insert
a knob: a kind of nail whose sometimes moulded foot is topped by a decorated or
inscribed circular head. This knob could be either removable or fixed to the plaque.
These decorative plaques are amongst the most characteristic Elamite architectural
decorations. The first knobbed plaques appeared in the fifteenth century in Haft Tepe
(ancient Kabnak), the residence of Tepti-­Ahar. They were perhaps inspired by Kassite
precedents (Heim 1989: 168). While some are made in stone, the faience versions are
an innovation that can be attributed to Elamite workshops (Amiet 1966: 337).
The sites of Susa and of Tell-­i Malyan (ancient Anshan) in Fars, provided deco-
rations of this type. But Choga Zanbil was definitely the site where their produc-
tion experienced the greatest development. Numerous knobbed plaques were found
stored in warehouses (rooms 26 and 28) of the ziggurat [Figure 28.2], and also in
situ, dumped on the slopes of the ziggurat and the surrounding courts (Ghirshman
1966: 37), as well as close to the gates and monumental passages. The Ishnikarab and
Kiririsha temples and the Hypogeum palace also delivered many samples.
At Susa, knobbed plaques attributed to the Shutrukid sovereigns are attested in
the Inshushinak temple on the Acropolis and in a monumental tomb built nearby
(Heim 1989: 39). Others were found scattered on the tells of the Apadana and the
Ville Royale, either devoid of any documented context or reused in later structures.

576
 Figure 28.2  Glazed knobbed plaques from Choga Zanbil.
Plaques in situ in room 26 (photograph after Ghirshman 1966,
vol. I, Pl. XVIII); Plaque inscribed with the name Untash-­Napirisha
(photograph J. Álvarez-­Mon; National Museum of Iran).
 — Noëmi Daucé —

Elizabeth Carter’s excavations at Anshan in building EDD also brought forth knobbed
plaques, but of much smaller proportions (Carter 1996: 45).
The iconographic repertoire shows great variety: at Choga Zanbil certain plaques,
composites, are enriched with circular encrustations of glass; others are molded and
decorated (quarters of rosettes placed in the corners) [Figure 28.2]. When they are
inscribed, the knobbed plaques mention the name of the royal sponsor and that of
the recipient deity, usually Ishnikarab (Heim 1989: 169). Covering both Middle and
Neo-­Elamite periods (not always distinguishable from one another), Susa has deliv-
ered the largest repertoire: motifs with geometric designs (networks of lozenges);
vegetal decorations of rosettes; zoomorphic designs (animals confronting each other
in a heraldic attitude); or anthropomorphic designs (geniuses, sometimes dominating
monsters or animals). Some among them offer an innovative iconographic repertoire,
dancer or genius, sometimes attributed more to a palatial than cultic context (Amiet
1966: 400).
Some nails also seem to have been directly inserted into the masonry, without an
adjoining plaque, as if to emphasize the directions of the lines of the buildings they
decorated. Edith Porada (1970: 21) has suggested that some architectural decorations
were echoed in contemporary glyptic.
In terms of architectural decoration, siliceous or glazed clay bricks equally consti-
tute one of the fundamental innovations of the Middle Elamite period. Monochrome
or colored, they appear first at Choga Zanbil during the reign of Untash-­Napirisha.
Monochrome bricks, generally covered with a blue or green glaze, underline certain
architectural structures: they covered without doubt the high temple, the kukunnum
dedicated to Napirisha and Inshushinak, which stood at the summit of the ziggurat
(Potts 1999: 224). At this time, the first polychrome glazed bricks also appeared.
Ornamented with friezes of black concentric circles on a white background or green
diamonds on a blue background, they constituted the decoration of 11 offering tables
arranged around the four courts of the ziggurat (Auberson 1966: 109–111).
In the following period, Shutrukid sovereigns took on board this innovation, and
many monuments were adorned with brick facades with blue or green monochrome
glazes. The Shutrukids, firstly Shilhak Inshushinak, were at the origin of an unprec-
edented technological development promising a great future: the manufacture of
siliceous bricks in relief, arranged to form a historiated decoration. In the dynas-
tic chapel or suhter on the acropolis, effigies representing the Shutrukid kings and
queens colored in blue, green and yellow were incorporated into the masonry of
mud-­brick walls [Figure 28.3]. The monument was so spectacular that the founda-
tion inscriptions of Shilhak Inshushinak specifically mentioned its colored bricks as a
true achievement (Caubet and Pierrat Bonnefois 2005: 90–94).

Small objects, expressions of an international

taste or Elamite identity?
From the Middle Elamite period, faience was widely used for small votive or funer-
ary objects. Alongside examples of stone and glass, the storerooms of the ziggurat at
Choga Zanbil delivered a profusion of votive maces, while chapels III and IV situ-
ated inside its enclosure wall contained numerous small animal figurines and seals of
faience.

578
Figure 28.3  Monumental facade of moulded glazed bricks
from Susa representing a royal couple, possibly
Shilhak-­Inshushinak and his queen (1150–1120 BC)
(photographs J. Álvarez-­Mon; Musée du Louvre).
 — Noëmi Daucé —

As Agnes Spycket emphasized, the production of these faience figurines at Choga

Zanbil can once again be attributed to Untash Napirisha. In addition to the small
animals (wild boar, monkeys, etc.) from the chapels of the ziggurat, the temple of
Pinikir delivered examples of female figurines in faience, more or less fragmentary,
that reproduced the attitude of queen Napirasu in her monumental statue (Spycket
1992: 217). The Middle Elamite period witnessed a fundamental shift in the produc-
tion of the Susian coroplasts, with the appearance of naked women supporting their
breasts, lutists and elegant maternal figures. The production of figurines in faience
was instead limited to the representation of worshipers in an attitude and costume
similar to those of small contemporary metal figurines. Some productions, like a
series of masks in frit, on the other hand, were linked with international productions
attested throughout the Near East.
The manufacture of faience cylinder seals was perpetuated in the Middle Elamite
period. They were found at Haft Tepe as well as Chogha Zanbil and Susa. Even if
the seals from Haft Tepe, found scattered throughout the tell (Negahban 1991: 49),
were linked to the traditions of the first half of the second millennium (Amiet 1996:
142), glass and faience cylinder seals from Choga Zanbil indicate a revival of Elamite
production. Probably deposited as offerings in the chapels III and IV of the southwest
precincts of the ziggurat, they were in line with a fairly basic decoration dominated
by scenes of cult with pseudo-­inscriptions and mythological scenes (Amiet 1966:
339). The banquet scenes found on Middle Elamite Susian faience cylinders probably
derived from Kassite glyptic (Harper et al. 1992: 211).
Faience vessels, whose forms diversified from the Middle Elamite era, fit within the
flow of international trade and a shared taste for this luxury production. They include
vessels decorated with female faces and banquets, spouted beakers and pyxides. The
latter are more varied than those produced by the workshops of the Levant and Mes-
opotamia. They can be square or cylindrical shaped with walls bearing engraved or
molded decorations, often animated by zoomorphic and anthropomorphic motifs.
Unlike the rest of the Near East their production remains strong in the first millen-
nium, but due to lack of sufficient archaeological documentation they are sometimes
difficult to date.

Continuity of the industry of vitreous materials in the Neo-­

Elamite period
The late twelfth century saw the disappearance of the Shutrukid dynasty after Nebu-
chadnezzar I (1126–1105) defeated Hutelutush-­Inshushinak. Elamite history in the
following centuries is unclear. Between the eleventh century and the second half of
the eighth century royal inscriptions and other written documents are unknown, a
situation which according to Pierre de Miroschedji (1990: 76–77) results from the
dislocation of the centralized political organization of the Shutrukids.
Nevertheless, during the first millennium, Elam witnessed a phenomenon of
continuity in the manufacture of objects in vitreous materials, whereas production
declined in Mesopotamia at the same time. Susa delivers the best evidence, even if
it is sometimes difficult to propose a precise chronological sequence due to a lack
of sufficiently documented archaeological contexts. Architectural decorations, figu-
rines and luxury tableware are perpetuated, and sovereigns like Shutruk Nahhunte

580
 — Industry of vitreous materials —

II (716–699) claimed the heritage of their Middle Elamite predecessors (Caubet and
Pierrat Bonnefois 2005: 108). On the whole, the discoveries indicate a transmission
of know-­how within the Elamite workshops and at the same time a clear dynamism,
since certain new innovations come to light.
The increasingly well-­mastered technique of polychromy through the application
of glazes of different colors epitomizes advances in the domain of faience production
in the Neo-­Elamite era. Their juxtaposition is favored by the invention in the ninth
century BC of a system of partitions drawn in a brown or black glaze tinted with
iron oxide or manganese with high siliceous concentration and low alkaline presence
(Holakooei 2014: 780). Their refractory qualities help prevent glazes of different
colors from mixing during the firing process. The use of this “cloisonné” technique is
attested in architectural decoration, in which the artisans perpetuate the production
of decorative plaques, knobs, historiated brick friezes without relief, as well as in cer-
emonial vessels and figurines. Soft colors are preferred: light blue, yellow, white and
green make up the bulk of the Neo-­Elamite palette.
Linked to economic and political conditions, Susian achievements of this period
are not in the domain of monumental undertakings. In the southeast part of the Susa
acropolis, Shutruk Nahhunte II built a small square temple with a simple plan that
brings it closer to Urartian buildings of the same era. It differs, however, in its rich
polychrome decoration of plaques fixed to the walls by nails with animal protome
terminals. The temple walls were made of bricks glazed with green both inside and
out. Nearby, bricks of siliceous paste were discovered constituting what Amiet con-
sidered as an “enameled table” made of several layers of brick like the Middle Elamite
podiums at Choga Zanbil: “It is not impossible that the podium leaning against the
back wall, of which only the base was discovered, was built in historiated brick, dec-
orated on the sides with horses, lionesses, griffins and winged scorpions, while on the
horizontal portion of the table, griffins face each other in a stylized plant network”
(Amiet 1967: 27). These bricks were inserted, in any case, in the heart of an ensemble
where the faience architectural decoration took pride of place, since fragments of
knobs, large square plaques carved in low relief and fragments of historiated squares,
some in relief, were also found.
Likewise, fragments of anthropomorphic and zoomorphic figurines discovered in
the temple attest to the continuity of this production during the Neo-­Elamite period
[Figure 28.4]. At Susa about 30 human faience figurines (Martinez-­Sève 2002: 56–57)
representing deities or worshipers in prayer were found [Figure 28.4a]. They are very
similar to statuettes attested in neighboring Luristan at Surkh Dum and Chigha Sabz.
The zoomorphic figurines [Figure 28.4b-­c] are often without documented archaeo-
logical context and are much more difficult to date, but their production seems to be
upheld almost without discontinuity between the Middle Elamite and Neo-­Elamite
periods.
In the field of vessels, a climate of technological competition saw the production of
small vases in siliceous paste in similar forms to those made in terracotta covered with
glaze. During the Achaemenid period, this latter technique spread and would eventu-
ally completely replace the production of faience during the Seleuco-­Parthian period
(Caubet and Pierrat-­Bonnefois 2005: 113). Neo-­Elamite vases in faience or terracotta
usually exhibit a narrow neck and molded belly. They are sometimes enhanced with
a decoration of colored chevrons or dotted circles. Those with globular body and

581
 Figure 28.4  Neo-­Elamite faience statuettes from Susa.
[a] Male worshiper (photograph courtesy RMN-Grand Palais,
Musée du Louvre/Hervé Lewandowski); [b, c] Horse and bull knobs
(photographs J. Álvarez-­Mon; Musée du Louvre).
 — Industry of vitreous materials —

pointed base mimic a luxury vessel in metal, while, according to their decoration,
others may have imitated small Mesopotamian glass vessels circulating in the Elamite
world. Found mostly in funerary contexts, faience and glazed terracotta vessels were
probably intended to contain ointments and perfumes, or even, as suggested by Heim
(1992: 203), liquids for quenching the thirst of the deceased in the afterlife.

CONCLU S IO N
Despite the turbulent history of the Elamite kingdom in the first half of the first
millennium BC, production of objects in glass materials, mainly faience and glazed
terracotta, continued. This astonishing permanence, which contrasts with the gradual
abandonment of these materials in Mesopotamia, attests to the maintenance of spe-
cialized workshops and the transmission of know-­how between the Middle-­Elamite
and Neo-­Elamite periods. Nevertheless, the political situation did not allow for the
production of decoration on a monumental scale, which requires the mobilization of
substantial cohorts of craftsmen. The sack of Susa by Assyrian troops in the year 646
destabilized the Neo-­Elamite kingdom, yet the Elamite culture did not completely dis-
appear. It seems that the principalities, including Susiana, reformed timidly during the
sixth century, before being integrated into the Persian empire. In the field of vitreous
industry, the Elamite knowledge did not disappear. The ambitious program of sili-
ceous decorative glazed bricks that animated the walls of the palace of Darius at Susa
is indeed the direct heir of savoir faire developed during the previous millennium.

NOTE
*  Translated from French by Javier Álvarez-Mon and Yasmina Wicks.

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 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ORIGINS OF MONUMENTAL
SCULPTURE IN ELAM
Two case studies

Holly Pittman

E xcavations on the Acropole of Susa by the French in the early decades of the
twentieth century produced many remarkable works of sculpture through which
its development can be reconstructed over three millennia. However, because the
techniques of stratigraphic excavation were neither fully understood nor consistently
practiced at the time, these works of art can only rarely be considered within a secure
archaeological context. Rather, iconography, style and technical features are funda-
mental to our assessment of date and cultural identity. In some instances, later work
using unpublished excavation records held in the Louvre has been able to establish
greater contextual control (Amiet 1976a), but for the most part these objects must
in any case be considered without contextual support. The most fundamental task of
such considerations is assignment of date. The cultural attribution assigned to works
by the early excavators has frequently been maintained in later scholarship, although
details of style and iconography do not in all cases support a reconsideration (e.g.
Pittman 2003). Without a secure understanding of the date of individual works of art,
it is not possible to construct an accurate art history for the Elamites. This chapter
will consider two distinct groups of sculpture from the second half of the third mil-
lennium BCE, re-­evaluating the currently held assignments of date and offering new
insights into historical and cultural processes.
The first discussion will focus on an inscribed sculpture of an individual named
Eshpum, one of a group of sculptures belonging to the third quarter of the third
millennium. The second discussion will scrutinize one of the sculptural objects in the
extraordinary collection associated with the ruler Puzur Inshushinak, a contempo-
rary of the Mesopotamian rulers Gudea and Urnamma at the end of the third millen-
nium. Each of these case studies considers questions of iconography and style in the
context of the unique relationship that Susa had with its western neighbors in south-
ern Mesopotamia. Its proximity just to the east of Mesopotamia, reachable by boat
and overland from the earliest periods, but also standing as the gateway and one of
the cultural centers of the highland Elamite culture, had a profound effect on the arts
of Elam as known from Susa beginning in the fourth millennium, long before such
a political entity even existed (Amiet 1979). Even when Susa was under direct hege-
monic domination of Mesopotamia, as it frequently was, Elamite artists maintained

585
 — Holly Pittman —

both their own styles and emphasis in iconography. In the art historical literature,
Elamite works are often characterized as “archaizing” or “peripheral” with relation
to Mesopotamia, suggesting that they were solely derivative and never intentional.
This discussion will replace that interpretative approach with one that seeks to define
distinctly Elamite features of these works and what those features can tell us about
Elam. In addition, in each of these considerations, the relationship between written
text and visual image plays an important role in our interpretation of the objects
within the larger body of Elamite sculpture. In particular, questions of recutting are
raised in each of these case studies.

THE “AMAS DE MANIS HU S HU ”

The subject of this first case study, the sculpture of Eshpum, belongs to the earlier
body of material retrieved from a context that Pierre Amiet (1976a) has carefully
reconstructed from the unpublished notes of its excavator, Roland de Mecquenem.
This is a disparate collection of objects apparently associated with a temple of
Narundi, an early Elamite goddess who Shulgi named Ninhursag of Susa. As a group,
the cluster of objects was referred to by the excavator as the “amas de Manishtushu”
on the basis of associated inscriptions invoking the name of the Old Akkadian ruler.
As Amiet reconstructed it, the “amas” or group of objects consisted of 33 fragmen-
tary works of sculpture, as well as works in bitumen mastic and an “archive” of seals
and seal impressions as well as cuneiform tablets of Old Akkadian date. Although
found in close proximity, the objects in this deposit are certainly not of one date.
The earliest can be associated on the basis of form and style with the middle of the
Early Dynastic period in Mesopotamia around 2600 BCE, while the latest certainly
belong to the Old Akkadian period. This collection of earlier and later works within
a sacred context is not unusual. Even under the best of controlled archaeological
circumstances, the dating of individual works in similar depositional contexts can
only be accomplished through stylistic and iconographic analysis because they were
deposited together at some terminus ante quem which in this case would have been
sometime in the Old Akkadian period after the reign of Manishtushu.
While most of the pieces of sculpture can be evaluated solely on the basis of
their formal attributes, one sculpture carries an inscription that gives independent
evidence for its date. It is a fragmentary three-­dimensional image of a male figure
(­Figure  29.1a) which preserves his upper body from the waist. Across the figure’s
back is an inscription in Akkadian which states:

Ma-­an-­ish-­tu-­shu
LUGAL
KIS
Esh-­pum
IR-su
a-­na
d Na-­ru-­ti
A MU.NA.RU
Manishtushu,
king of Kish,

586
 Figure 29.1  [a] Male statue. Inscribed. Eshpum (Louvre Musem Sb 82;
Height 30 cm, width 22 cm; Grey alabaster); [b] Male statue holding goat
(Louvre Museum Sb 84; Height 42, width 18 cm. Alabaster); [c] Statue without
goat (Louvre Museum Sb 83; Height 50 cm; width 15 cm. Alabaster)
(photographs courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).
 — Holly Pittman —

Eshpum,
his servant
to Narundi
donated

Many scholars who have discussed this sculpture in print (e.g. Amiet 1966; 1976a;
1976b; Bahrani 1992: 53; Spycket 1981: 73, no. 149; Eppihimer 2009; Álvarez-­Mon,
Chapter 30 in this volume) have accepted the evaluation offered first by Eva Strom-
menger (1959) who concluded on the basis of style that in spite of the inscription,
this work could not be Old Akkadian in date. In her opinion, the work shares too
many features of abstraction and stylization with Early Dynastic sculpture, while
at the same time lacking any hints of the idealized naturalism so powerful in the
royal images of Manishtushu. In her mind, the only explanation for this formal dis-
crepancy was that it had to be an earlier work which Eshpum appropriated after he
was appointed an official in the Akkadian court of Manishtushu in Susa. He would
have had it recut and inscribed in preparation for its dedication to the goddess in
her temple. Even following his careful consideration of the archaeological context in
which this sculpture was found, Amiet continued to support this interpretation that
on the basis of the style of the object, it had to be an earlier work that received a later
inscription. Underlying this conclusion is the assumption that the official sculpture of
Susa must have followed essentially identical patterns of development familiar to us
from the more abundant evidence from Mesopotamia. They would be differentiated
only by their peripheral or archaizing appearance. For the Early Dynastic period,
the numerous sculptures from the temples in the Diyala valley serve to exemplify
the stylistic development that must stand as the point of reference (Frankfort 1943;
Evans 2012).
Over the past three decades or so, it has become increasingly clear that the tran-
sition between Early Dynastic and Old Akkadian periods in Mesopotamian political
history cannot be precisely mapped directly onto a parallel evolution in contempo-
rary material culture. For example, the ceramic traditions retain many features of the
earlier phase into the later decades of the Akkadian period (Gibson and McMahon
1995). Distinguishing late Early Dynastic from early Old Akkadian in glyptic art
is also often problematic (Matthews 1997). The most common hypothesis offered
to explain the Early Dynastic features in Old Akkadian works is still the role of
“archaizing” or the work of “old fashioned” craftsmen. Such explanations ignore
the very real processes that underlie evolution in style and iconography and miss an
opportunity to define more precisely the range of artistic expression that was prac-
ticed at any one moment. Because the Eshpum sculpture carries an inscription that
associates it with a known Mesopotamian ruler, the work offers an opportunity to
focus closely on the nature of Elamite art during the middle years of the Old Akka-
dian period, at a moment when the dynastic style associated with the Old Akkadian
rulers becomes canonized.
There is no question that the image of Eshpum is stylistically different than the
images that we associate with his master, the Old Akkadian ruler Manishtushu (Eppi-
himer 2010). All aspects of his image are more schematic and abstract in keeping
with stylistic norms of the Early Dynastic images. Significantly, however, the image of
Eshpum also displays numerous stylistic features that are never seen in Early Dynastic

588
 — Origins of monumental sculpture in Elam —

sculptures. There are, of course, two variables operating here. As stated above, the
majority of relevant Early Dynastic sculpture was produced in Mesopotamia, there-
fore in a consideration of Eshpum, one must allow for the existence of an Elamite
style in contemporary sculpture of any period. Further, there is no question that some
of the sculpture found in the “amas” is certainly Early Dynastic in date. Many of
these examples are essentially indistinguishable from sculpture found in the temples
in the Diyala river valley.
Among the differences the Eshpum’s image has with Early Dynastic sculpture,
the most prominent is his full head of hair which is worn in a short-­cropped style
without a central part. Male images with hair from the Early Dynastic period all
show the hair parted in the middle, and invariably the hair is long and pulled over
the shoulders to lie on the pectorals. On occasion, a third bunch of hair falls down
the back. Strommenger (1959) and Amiet (1976b) both argue that the original hair
style of the sculpture was originally of that type and that the hair was recut when the
sculpture was repurposed by Eshpum. Such a radical refashioning of hair style could
not have been accomplished without leaving trace indications either on the surface
of the stone, or in its form. For one, the entire body of hair would have to have been
recut to obliterate traces of the deep central part, and that would affect the shape of
the head. Further, both the shoulders and pectorals would have been covered with
hair which would also have had to be removed. Upon examination, there is nothing
on the surface or the shape of the affected parts of the sculpture that indicates it had
been recut before receiving its inscription which clearly and unequivocally dates the
work to the reign of Manishtushu.
But how, then, do we account for the discrepancy in style between the image
of Eshpum and what do we expect to be the court production of official sculpture
during the middle of the Old Akkadian period? Must we simply understand this
work as “archaizing”, implying an unconscious retention of earlier models (Braun-­
Holzinger 1991), or can it be understood as typical of Elamite artistic production at
this moment, a stylistic choice that was intentional and indeed perhaps understood
as innovative in one way or another? This is to say that there does not have to be
anything “archaizing” or “old fashioned” or “incompetent” in the production of this
work, but rather it can be understood as a stylistic expression that was different from
the court style of Mesopotamia during the middle of the Old Akkadian period. We
should understand it as an Elamite sculpture typical of the middle of the Old Akka-
dian period, intentionally distinguishing itself from the court style that was emerging
around the Old Akkadian royalty.
There is now evidence to support this line of argument coming from the recent
archaeological discoveries at the site of Abu Sheeja, in Iraq. Abu Sheeja is an 18-hect-
are site in central Babylonia close to the Iranian border, approximately 100 kms due
west from Susa. Iraqi archaeologists report (Hussein et al. 2010) the discovery of a
temple dedicated to the god Shuda. Found installed in the temple was a carved and
inscribed stele which tells us (Hussein et al. 2010: 57–58):
“For (the god) Shuda, Ilshu rabi (of) Pashime, the solider, brought in this statue.
May the one who erases the name (on this inscription) not find an heir; may he not
acquire a name (for himself).”
This inscription is significant for a number of reasons, the most important being
that it allows the site to be identified as Pashime, a territory known from later

589
 — Holly Pittman —

inscriptions to be part of the territorial holdings of the kingdom of Kindattu, ruler of

Elam and Anshan (Van Dijk 1978: 193–194 ll. 22–23). Before this discovery, Pashime
was thought to lie on the ancient coastline of the Persian Gulf, perhaps in the vicin-
ity of the modern port town of Bushire. As Steinkeller (1982) observed, in ancient
times the head of the Gulf extended much farther north than it does today, and while
Pashime may have controlled part of its shore, it seems unlikely that it held territory
all the way to Bushire. Joining Anshan, we can now be confident of another point in
the historical geography of the Bronze Age Iranian world. While the grammar, pale-
ography and orthography of the Abu Sheeja inscription dates it generally to the Sar-
gonic period, Ilshu rabi can be dated precisely to the reign of Manishtushu because
he is identified as the governor of Pashime on the Manishtushu Obelisk (Hussein
et al. 2010).
In addition to the inscription, the stele also carries an image of the governor,
which is relevant to our evaluation of the Eshpum image. When the two are directly
compared, a virtually one-­to-­one similarity is immediately apparent. Ilshu rabi is, in
fact, a two-­dimensional rendering of the three-­dimensional Eshpum. The similarity
includes the hair cut with the sharp ledge at the nape of the neck, the long beard that
is shaved almost to the angle of the chin, the prominent eye socket, the large ear, the
position of the hands directly beneath the beard, the tubular shape of the upper arms,
the belt at the waist, and the nude torso. Because Ilshu rabi mentions the image in the
inscription, there can be no question that the stele is earlier and the inscription added.
Such close similarities shared among these images demands that we consider them as
contemporary. Given their findspots, it is most likely that they were made in different
workshops. If so, their shared features can be thought of as appropriate for the image
of a certain high level of Elamite official working within the Old Akkadian hegemon.
Rather than understanding the style of these two official works as backward looking
(M. Gibson in Hussein et al. 2010: 56, fn. 13; Evans 2012), it is my view that the
style of Eshpum and Ilushu Rabi should be considered as entirely consistent with
accepted sculptural norms of the early Old Akkadian period. Indeed it is conceivable
that the court style developed under Rimush and Manishtushu was forbidden for use
by dependent officials and that the sculptors working for them developed their own
distinctive visual language.
Although without inscriptions and therefore more difficult to associate with the
old Akkadian period, it is possible that several other sculptures found in the “amas”
of Manishutushu can be assigned to the Old Akkadian period. Included are two
sculptures of male figures wearing flounced garments and carrying young sheep as
offerings (Figure 29.1b, c). Both of these works are also commonly assigned to the
Early Dynastic period.
It is important to remember that much of the Old Akkadian royal sculpture found
at Susa was taken there as booty almost a millennium after the site was dominated
by the Old Akkadian kings (Harper and Amiet 1992). However, Melissa Eppihimer
(2009) has suggested that some of the Old Akkadian sculpture found at the site may
in fact have been erected during the Old Akkadian period. If so, there would have
been Mesopotamian models available for local sculptors and officials to have consid-
ered in developing their official style. Clearly they did not choose to emulate them.
In any case, it is unlikely that the official royal sculpture of the Old Akkadian rulers
was actually made at Susa. The one royal sculpture that we can be certain was at Susa

590
 — Origins of monumental sculpture in Elam —

in the third millennium is the seated figure inscribed by Puzur Inshushinak (Amiet
1976b: Figure 35a-­c). Some have argued that this work was appropriated by the later
Elamite king, while others argue that detailed differences suggest that it was carved
at Susa during his reign (Eppihimer 2009), intentionally drawing on Old Akkadian
royal models. The discussion that follows tackles other aspects of the complicated
visual program of that important Elamite ruler.

THE “ GALET” OF PUZU R INS HU S HINAK

The second case study tackles a similarly knotty problem in Elamite sculpture, engag-
ing with the sculptural works associated with Puzur Inshushinak, identified on the
King List of Awan and Shimashki as the last king of the Dynasty of Awan. Although
we have extensive artefactual as well as textual evidence for this Elamite king, his
place in the history of Elam and Mesopotamia is still a matter of considerable debate
and uncertainty (Sallaberger 2015; Steinkeller 2013).
While we are sure that Puzur Inshushinak claimed three distinct titles in his cursus
honorum (governor of Susa, shakkanshum of the land of Elam, son of Shimpi’ ishhuk
and finally the mighty king of Awan, son of Shimpi’ ishhuk), the land of his origin
is still unclear. Some have argued that he was an Elamite king who seized control of
Susa (Glassner 1988). Others suggest that he derived from Anshan (Steinkeller 2013),
others assume that he was from Susa and rose locally in the ranks (Lambert 1991).
Regardless of his origins, it is clear that Puzur Inshushinak took advantage of the
power vacuum created by the collapse of the Old Akkadian state to capture control
of vital routes linking the plateau and the alluvium. At the height of his power, he
tells us that he controlled lands in western Iran. Inscriptions of Ur Namma report that
Puzur Inshushinak also controlled cities in the Diyala as well as the city of Agade.
Finally, it is certain that Puzur Inshushinak was defeated early in the reign of Ur
Namma, who then consolidated his control over these regions.
What is less certain is the relative place, both chronologically and historically, of
Puzur Inshushinak in relation to the Mesopotamian rulers Gudea and Ur Namma.
Steinkeller’s (1988) proposal to see Gudea and Ur Namma as contemporaries has
recently been challenged (Sallaberger 2004), allowing a return to an historical
sequence that places Gudea’s reign earlier than that of Ur Namma. In this reconstruc-
tion, these Mesopotamian rulers overlap only briefly at the end of Gudea’s and the
beginning of Ur Namma’s reign. The result of this redating allows Gudea to be under-
stood as an independent actor in his relations with the East. This reordering of reigns
through textual analysis has relevance for our understanding of relations between
Susa and Mesopotamia, and it has further ramifications for our understanding of the
monuments of Puzur Inshushinak found at Susa.
At Susa, Puzur Inshushinak is well documented through more than 20 inscriptions
carried on objects as well as on tablets and other clay items (Amiet 1976b; Hinz 1969;
André-­Salvini 2006–2008). In the early excavations on the Acropolis at Susa, 12 works
of sculpture were found in various locations that can be associated through inscriptions
with his reign (Amiet 1976b). Some of the works carry an inscription in Akkadian,
while others carry only still undeciphered Linear Elamite inscriptions. Three of them
carry texts in both scripts, usually interpreted as bi-­linguals. Because the Linear Elamite
script is not deciphered, and we are not even positive that the underlying language

591
 — Holly Pittman —

is Elamite, the relationship between the inscriptions is still unproven. In addition to

human and divine images, which are discussed by Álvarez-­Mon in Chapter 30 of this
volume, two sculptures of lions are known (Amiet 1976b: Figure 59, 60), neither of
which is inscribed. Further, there is a stone slab carved with the head of a lion (Amiet
1976b: Figure 61) that carries both Akkadian and Linear Elamite inscriptions. Finally,
there are two large “galets” (boulders) which carry both imagery and inscriptions and
have large holes in which a mast or pole could have been set. It is these monuments
which are the focus of the discussion here. The most recent substantive treatment of the
Puzur Inshushinak monuments was undertaken by Beatrice Andre-­Salvini and Mario
Salvini (1989), and this consideration builds on their contribution.
Similar to the discussion of Eshpum above, there is a question of the contempo-
raneity of the inscriptions and the imagery on these monuments. However, in this
instance an opposite conclusion is reached. It will be argued here that at least the
most elaborate of the galets (Figure 29.2a-­e) was subjected to recutting which has,
until now, gone unobserved and unconsidered. Incorporating this recutting into an
interpretation of the monument allows us to understand more clearly both the mon-
ument itself and its historical context.
In their restudy, André-­Salvini and Salvini (1989) present a new reconstruction of
the galet based on a secure join they were able to establish between fragments Sb 6
and Sb 177, to which they also associated a third small piece Sb 18446. While still
very fragmentary, this join gives a clearer understanding of the monument’s imagery,
and it establishes that this object carried inscriptions in both (Figure 29.2c, d) Akka-
dian and in Linear Elamite. As it stands now, the ovoid boulder carries the image in
high relief of a snake coiled on its top. Along the outer edge of the serpent is part of
a three-­line Linear Elamite inscription. On the proper right side of the boulder, the
newly established join allows the reconstruction of the back part of the body of a
recumbent lion having an open mouth and a raised large front paw (Figure 29.2c).
Across the haunch and belly of the feline is a two column Akkadian inscription curs-
ing anyone who would damage the monument. Unlike the Linear Elamite inscription
which was carefully placed around the outline of the snake, the Akkadian inscription
was carved without regard for the sculptural integrity of the image of the lion. Clearly
this differing placement reflects two fundamentally different attitudes toward the
relationship between text and image on the monument.
The other image preserved on this galet is a vignette placed directly in front of
the lion’s gaping mouth showing a kneeling god holding a large foundation peg in
front of a lama goddess. Two other hints of inscription are also present. Behind the
lama goddess is the vertical line of a frame. André-­Salvini and Salvini argue that this
might have been the continuation of the Linear Elamite inscription. However, the
narrow width of the line is more consistent with the frame surrounding the Akkadian
inscription on the feline’s body. Finally there is the corner of what may be another
frame behind and above the head of the lion. Given the relationship of this frame
to the snake’s body, it is possible that this marked the continuation of the Linear
Elamite inscription. Unfortunately, the other side of the ovoid block is entirely broken
away. A second fragmentary galet (Sb 6733), certainly a pair with this one, was also
found on the Acropole. On the remaining half of this monument, the only imagery
is the coiled snake on the top similarly surrounded by a multiple-­line Linear Elamite
inscription (Figure 29.3a, b).

592
 Figure 29.2  [a, b, e] Puzur Inshushinak galet (Louvre Museum Sb 6.
Height 55 cm. length 39 cm) (photographs courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon);
[c, d] Line-­drawing reconstructions of restored galet Sb 6 and
Sb 177 (after André-­Salvini and Salvini 1989: 54 and 56, Figs. 1 and 2).
 Figure 29.3  [a] View from the top of the Puzur Inshushinak galet
(photo by the author); [b] Detail of erasing of the inscription (photo by the
author); [c] Cup, with lion confronting bull; three snakes for handle (National
Museum of Iran MT 513; Alabaster Gypsum. Susa, found in a terracotta
sarcophagus; Diameter 17 cm) (photo courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon); [d] Lions from the
statue of the goddess Narundi (Louvre Sb 54 plus head. Statue inscribed by
Puzur Inshushinak Akkadian and Linear Elamite inscription. Height without
head 84 cm. width 47 cm) (photo courtesy J. Álvarez-­Mon).
 — Origins of monumental sculpture in Elam —

The vignette of the peg god and the lama has been the primary focus in discus-
sions of the galet of Puzur Inshushinak. The Mesopotamian and more precisely Neo
Sumerian reference in this scene is obvious. It has been used repeatedly to consider
the date of Puzur Inshushinak and the monument. Before the textual evidence for the
link between Puzur Inshushinak and Ur Namma from Isin was known (Wilcke 1987),
the scene was used by Strommenger (1959; 1960) to argue for a post Akkadian date
for the ruler. Eppihimer (2009), in her study of the legacy of Old Akkadian art, has
used the scene to define one of three visual streams that she believes Puzur Inshush-
inak employed in his artistic program to express both his Elamite identity and the
competition he felt from Mesopotamia. By her lights, Puzur Inshushinak combined
Neo-­Sumerian visual references with the visual and verbal legacy of the Old Akka-
dian depiction of royal power. The Iranian/Elamite thread to which Eppiheimer refers
is the still poorly known highland world which is more clearly expressed through
the use of Linear Elamite than it is in the existing corpus of imagery (Pittman 2002;
Suter 2008).
As has been long observed, the peg god and lama vignette is entirely Mesopota-
mian and can be dated with confidence to the Lagash II dynasty and the reigns of Ur
Bau and Gudea. Foundation figurines identical to the one rendered on the galet were
found at Girsu associated with those kings (Strommenger 1964: Figure  146, left).
Further, a rendering of such a peg god is preserved on one of the fragments of Gudea’s
stele from Tello (Suter 2000: ST 55). When Steinkeller (1988) argued on the basis of
names and year names that Gudea and Urnamma were contemporary and that they
acted together in foreign adventures, this clouded the clear association of the kneeling
peg god with the Lagash II dynasty and Gudea and expanded the visual reference to
necessarily include the reign of Ur Namma. Basing her dating of Puzur Inshushinak’s
monument on Steinkeller’s equation of Gudea and Ur Namma, Eppiheimer’s insight-
ful analysis requires her to conflate the three independent threads that she associates
with Puzur Inshushinak’s monuments into a single program. The re-­dating of Gudea
and Ur Namma offered by Sallaberger (2015) allows a reconsideration of the process
that might have led to this strange palimpsest of imagery.
It is the relationship between the lion and snake image and the vignette of the
peg god and lama that is problematic. This combination is totally incongruous and
unparalleled either in Elamite or Mesopotamian art. These visual elements do not
belong together iconographically, stylistically or culturally. Only Amiet (1976b) has
even attempted to interpret all the elements as an integrated scene by reconstructing
the roaring lion as tethered to the peg which would have emerged from the top of
the galet. There exists no comparanda for such a reconstruction. In addition to the
incongruity of the subject matter, the composition which posits images of completely
different scales in relation to each other makes the work incomprehensible as a single
visual expression.
In fact, a close inspection of the monument itself makes clear the incongruous rela-
tionship between the vignette with the lion and the rest of the monument. The sur-
face of the boulder upon which the body and the head/paw of the lion as well as the
snake and the Linear Elamite inscription were carved is smooth, slightly irregular and
rounded, clearly following the original contours of the boulder. The same is true of its
mate, which never received any additional imagery along the sides. Rather than fol-
lowing the same curved surface of the boulder, the surface on which the vignette was

595
 — Holly Pittman —

carved is flat. When viewed from the top (Figure 29.3a), it is obvious that this surface
does not continue the original rounded surface of the boulder but was prepared by
flattening the original curve of the boulder. The fact that this flat surface is secondary
is further evident because the act of flattening erased the bottom half of the signs of
the Linear Elamite inscription on the right-­hand side (Figure 29.3b). This physical
relationship between the vignette of the peg god and lama and the original surface of
the boulder combined with the clear intervention into the Linear Elamite inscription
makes it clear that the vignette was a later addition to the monument. It is likely that
the Akkadian inscription on the back of the lion was added at the same time.
This observation allows us to posit at least two phases for the production of this
intriguing monument. The first carried the image of the snake similar to the pair with
snake and inscription. At some time, perhaps together with the snake, but perhaps in
a further elaboration, the roaring lion was carved on the proper right side of the large
boulder. Before returning to the implications of the addition of the vignette, it is use-
ful to consider what might possibly have been the remainder of the program carried
on the boulder before the addition of the vignette. In this effort, we are assisted by a
decorated bowl (Figure 29.3c) found at Susa and now in the Tehran museum.
The cup, carved in alabaster, was found at Susa in a sarcophagus (Mecquenem
1934: 231–232). No other information about the contents of the sarcophagus is
reported. Amiet (1966) dates the cup to the early part of the second millennium, but
without any justification. Even if the sarcophagus is of early second millennium date,
that provides only a terminus ante quem for any object in the burial. The imagery of
the vessel presents a striding and roaring lion confronting a bull. Originally the cup
had a handle, which is now at least partially broken away, formed by three snakes
whose heads peeked over the rim of the vessel. It is the imagery and its style that
allows for a reconsideration of the date of this cup.
A comparison of the features of the lion on the cup to images of lions associated
with Puzur Inshushinak allow us to move it to the later part of the third millennium.
While a comparison with the lion on the galet can be made, the lions on the throne of
statue of Puzur Inshushinak’s image of the goddess Narundi (Figure 29.3d) are more
useful because they are complete. The close stylistic comparison of features include
the open mouth with bared teeth, the outline surrounding the open mouth, the pat-
terning on the muzzle, the comma shape of the shoulder muscle with a hair whorl in
the joint, the lappet pattern of the belly hair with contrasting diagonal forms of the
upper body hair. All of these similarities make clear the very close stylistic connection
between the cup and the monuments of Puzur Inshushinak. Facing the lion on the
bowl is the image of a bovid whose lowered head threatens the feline with powerful
horns. Behind the confronted creatures are the remains of a handle made up of snakes
whose heads curve up over the rim. I believe this combination of imagery makes plau-
sible the reconstruction of the original program of the galet as a roaring feline facing
a threatening bull in the presence of a snake.
The imagery of the lion confronting the bull is strongly associated with Iran begin-
ning with the Proto-­Elamite period where it frequently occurs on cylinder seals (Amiet
1972: e.g. 949, 950, 1000, 1012, 1013) but never is combined with the image of a
snake. While not documented at Susa in the post-­Proto-­Elamite period, this theme
continues into the second half of the third millennium on the plateau where it is
repeated frequently in the soft stone imagery of the Halil River Valley (Figure 29.4a).

596
 Figure 29.4  [a] Line drawing of steatite canister with lion and bull. Confiscated
from looters. Kerman Museum (photo courtesy Y. Madjidzadeh); [b] Carved bowl
from Shahdad (after Hakemi 1997: 607/Fd1); [c] Seal impression from Konar
Sandal South Tr. V-402 no. 40 (length of seal impression 4 cm. frag. height 2.5 cm)
(seal impression and drawing by the author); [d] Baked brick with Linear Elamite
Inscription from second citadel level of Konar Sandal South (photo courtesy
Y. Madjidzadeh and H. Pittman).
 — Holly Pittman —

The confrontation of feline and bull is also clearly represented on the Shahdad stan-
dard (Hakemi 1997: 649/G1) as well as on another bowl, crudely but clearly carved,
from Shahdad (Figure 29.4b) (Hakemi 1997: 607/Fd1). In all of these instances, the
combination of feline and bull with snake binds the semantic of these images together
into a single message, one that had particular resonance on the Iranian plateau in the
region of Kerman during the third quarter of the third millennium. Finally, although
very fragmentary, a further image from the plateau can be brought in to the discus-
sion. This is a seal impression found in Trench V of the excavations at the site of
Konar Sandal South in the Halil River Valley (Figure 29.4c). This impression, found
together with many others of different style groups (Pittman in Madjidzadeh and Pit-
tman 2008; Pittman 2012; 2014a; 2014b) immediately evokes the image of the lion
on the boulder. On what must have been a very large cylinder carved exceptionally
deeply, we can see the head of a lion with gaping mouth and a raised open paw with
claws extended in a manner almost identical to that seen on the galet. To conclude
from this discussion, it is clear that the imagery on the galet, if not the galet itself, had
its origins in the highlands, and more specifically in the region of Kerman, which by
this time can be identified as the land of Marhashi (Steinkeller 2006).
The association of Puzur Inshushinak with the highland is strengthened by the fact
the Linear Elamite script at Susa is apparently associated only with his reign, while on
the highland it had a considerably longer period of use. Linear Elamite inscriptions
are now documented not only on the silver vase from Fars (Hinz 1969; Potts 2008),
and on the pottery rim from Shahdad (Hinz 1971), but also from excavations at
Konar Sandal South in the Halil River Valley (Madjidzadeh in Madjidzadeh and Pitt-
man 2008, Madjidzadeh 2011). In the second building level of the monumental struc-
tures on the citadel, a baked brick was found that is (Figure 29.4d) clearly inscribed
with Linear Elamite script. The date of the levels of the citadel is established through
radio carbon dating to between 2290 and 2210 BCE (Madjidzadeh in Madjidzadeh
and Pittman 2008: 79), falling before the late third millennium date for Puzur Ins-
hushinak. With the discovery of the baked brick at Konar Sandal South, combined
with the inscription from Shahdad, there can be little doubt that the Linear Elamite
script developed in the highland, with the region of Kerman as the most likely loca-
tion of its invention. More excavation is needed to bring evidence to this conclusion.
What remains is to consider why the vignette of the peg-­god and lama as well as
the Akkadian inscription were added to this apparently highland monument? For
this, the newly established chronological relationship of Gudea and Urnamma, dis-
cussed above, can be brought to bear. Steinkeller (2013) proposes that it was an
alliance of Gudea and Urnamma that brought the expansion of Puzur Inshushinak to
an end. Under that scenario, the inscriptions describing Urnamma’s defeat of Puzur
Inshushinak and Gudea’s defeat of Anshan and Elam would have been one combined,
extended effort by southern Mesopotamia to end the Elamite control of lands vital
to access to trade routes onto the plateau. Under this scenario, perhaps the vignette
could be understood as a defacement of Puzur Inshushinak’s monument. Alterna-
tively, Puzur Inshushinak altered his monument to expand its reference to include
Neo-­Sumerian as well as Akkadian visual tropes adapting the logic of Eppiheimer.
With the understanding that Gudea had his own relationship with the eastern
highlands prior to Urnamma, it is possible to suggest another explanation for the
curious addition of this imagery. Following that historical reconstruction, Sallaberger

598
 — Origins of monumental sculpture in Elam —

(2015: 125), elaborating on his comments, has suggested that “Gudea, in an alliance,
perhaps never marched to Anshan himself, but his troops cooperated with Puzur
Inshushinak  – who in this undertaking achieved rule over Anshan” (pers. comm.).
This would allow us to hypothesize that after securing the alliance, Gudea built a
temple near Shushtar in a friendly territory. Further, Gudea provided Shimpishhus’s
(the father of Puzur Inshushinak) men with supplies in Girsu, not as prisoners fol-
lowing Puzur Inshushinak’s defeat (Steinkeller 2013) but as members of the alliance
between Girsu and Elam. Finally, there are recorded a large number of easterners at
Girsu during the reign of Gudea (Schrakamp 2014). Sallaberger suggests that “the
presence of foreigners is mostly a sign of good diplomatic contacts which result in
the exchange of many persons (like in Ebla, or in Ur III)”. Finally, Puzur Inshushinak
was able to achieve his rapid and extensive victories over 80 cities in the Zagros lands
north of Susa because “he had no trouble on the Girsu border (the most import-
ant Mesopotamian border).” (Sallaberger pers. comm.). Gudea’s interest was not in
expanding his personal control over northern Babylonia; he was instead eager to
have access to the lucrative and vital trade routes leading to the riches of the Iranian
plateau, riches that he needed in order to fulfill his obligation to Ningirsu. An alliance
with an effective and powerful Elamite ruler would have secured those routes to the
benefit of both.
When we look at objects associated with Gudea’s reign, several stand out for their
Iranian character. Most obvious is the steatite beaker of Gudea with standing mushushu
dragons on either side of the twisted snake standard or the steatite lid with entwined
snakes (Frankfort 1970: Figs. 101, 102). Both the dragon and the snake are important
images known earlier on the Iranian plateau (Pittman 2014a). It is entirely consistent
with this historical reconstruction that the alliance between Puzur Inshushinak and
Gudea would have been promulgated in both text and images. Puzur Inshushinak’s
accendance to danum, king of the four regions, and king of Awan, at the pinnacle of
his power, would have included his ally in arms, Gudea of Girsu. Gudea welcomed to
his temple those Elamites and other highlanders who had secured for him access to the
riches needed to properly outfit the temple to Ningursu. Each following their own his-
torical mandate, perhaps facilitated somehow by positive personal chemistry, these two
rulers converged in a unique, and probably quite brief, moment of alliance that allowed
each of them to achieve their personal goals. The galet of Puzur Inshushinak visualizes
that alliance, one that has not yet been clearly recorded in texts.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY

THE SCULPTURAL ARTS OF ELAM

Javier Álvarez-­Mon

INTRODU CTIO N
Sculpture brings together materials, skill and imagination to manufacture two and
three-­dimensional physical realities punctuating time and space with layers of cul-
ture. The dual highland-­lowland geographical setting of Elam largely determined the
personality of its multifaceted sculptural expressions, providing access to a range
of materials as diverse as clay, stone, bitumen and metal. While Elamites excelled at
transforming all of these materials, the bulk of the surviving sculpture has come to us
from excavations conducted in the western lowland region of Khuzistan, particularly
the cities of Susa, Haft Tappeh and Chogha Zanbil, where sculptural production was
conditioned by streams of cultural interaction with Mesopotamia and by a mastery
of the use of clay. Besides these urban-­based traditions, a significant manifestation of
Elamite sculptural arts can be found in monumental reliefs carved in open air sanc-
tuaries located in the highlands.
The ensuing summary provides a chronological overview of sculptural art manu-
factured in Elam from stone, clay and bitumen (in this volume glazed mud-­brick relief
panels, glazed clay sculpture, metal sculpture, and glyptic are treated in Chapters 27,
28, 31 and 32 by F. Bridey, N. Daucé, E. Ascalone and M.B. Garrison, respectively).
This multiplicity of Elamite sculpture is represented by both elaborate, often large-­
scale, elite-­sponsored works and a rich and ubiquitous corpus of terracotta-­made
popular works of art.

ELAM B EF ORE ELAM (CA. 4 2 0 0 – 3 0 0 0 B C)

The village of Susa was founded around 4200 BC atop two natural outcrops, ca. 10.5
to 7 m high, which overlooked the surrounding alluvial plain. At this time, as many
as 2,000 people may have called Susa home. Their presence at the site was physically
underscored by the construction of a massive wall, possibly enclosing the northern
settlement, and a massif platform on the southern mound believed to have reached
10 m in height. This period was characterized by the production of original Ubaid-­
style painted ceramics whose palette of ornamental motifs is defined by abstract geo-
metric forms and animal imagery, revealing influences from textiles and basketry, as
602
 — The sculptural arts of Elam —

well as from the natural environment. This style is embodied in a sculptural tradition
dominated by sober stylization and the abstraction of the human and animal form.
The modelling characteristics of earlier so-­called ophidian or cobra-­like figurines are
retained in this period for the representation of the human figure in clay [­Figure 30.1a].

Figure 30.1  4th millennium and early 3rd millennium terracotta and
stone miniature sculpture.

603
 — J a v i e r Á l v a r e z - ­M o n —

A minimalistic tubular body without arms or legs, is topped by a broad flat chest and
an elongated head variously interpreted as a sign of cranial-­modification, a special
type of headgear or hairstyle, or the wearing of masks. Painted black dots covering
the body are perceived as clothing, painting, tattooing, or even scars. The represen-
tation of sheep figures conveys a similar minimalist approach, underscoring the head
and its massive horns as principal appendages. Only one example, whose face lacks
eyes and a mouth, has preserved its large round horns, which contrast with the stocky
body and legs [Figure 30.1b]. Both the body and horns of this animal were painted
with brown dots and stripes. Many of these animal figurines are pierced by a hole and
it has been suggested that they could have used as toys or ornaments.
Around 3800 BC, as a result of the rise of urbanism and the likely arrival of
new settlers from the west, Susa became integrated into the Uruk-­centred Meso-
potamian network. The arts developed during the Susa II period (ca. 3800–3100)
express new awareness of the dynamic sense of social complexity and actualization
embodied in the domestic activities of the community. The latter part of this period
(ca. 3300–3100) gave birth to an “archaic” three-­dimensional sculpture defined by
a new realism. Unique samples of this original style are small alabaster figurines of
kneeling females in prayer position. They have distinctive almond-­shaped eyes, long
hair pulled back off the face by a band, and a long skirt covering the kneeling legs to
create a triangular shaped lower half. In one example, the female appears to support
her large breasts between her outstretched arms and below her skirt are visible small
feet with detail of ten toes [Figure 30.1c; 6.2 cm high]. The hands of a much taller
and possibly male (?) figure are held in front of the chin with the two little fingers
crossed, the index and middle fingers touching, and the thumbs meeting under the
chin [11.5 cm high].
The variety of sculptural production is expanded by the representation of a stand-
ing male found inside a miniature chapel who holds his hands in a worshipping
position [Figure 30.1d]. The angular “cubist” stylization illustrates the manufacture
of different versions of worshipers to stand before a divinity inside a temple or a
chapel. Contemporary with these human statuettes is a small corpus of alabaster
animals. Notable amongst these is a seated bear drinking from a vessel and a seated
baboon, once fastened by pegs to a base, resting its hands on its knees. The theme of
the animal holding a vessel assumes a functional expression in a series of captivating
alabaster vessels, probably scent holders, in the shape of frogs, piglets and birds. One
humorous rendering shows two frogs clinging to the sides of a piglet [Figure 30.1f].

THIRD MILLENNIU M E L AM
In the wake of the Uruk “world system” collapse, the so-­called proto-­Elamite or
Susa III period (ca. 3100–2900) manifests new levels of interaction. The appearance
of a writing system centred in the Susiana and adapted by a broad range of sites
distributed throughout the Iranian highlands and plateau has given rise to the per-
ception of a supra-­cultural and economic enterprise referred to as the “Proto-­Elamite
civilization”. While the specific characteristics of such a network remain unknown,
its strong reverberations can be discerned in the ceramic and glyptic repertoires of
Susa. Two “archaic deposits” from the Susa Acropole contained well-­modelled ani-
mal statuettes of an entirely new style that can be witnessed also in the glyptic arts.

604
 — The sculptural arts of Elam —

One white marble statuette represents a couchant bull or cow [Figure 30.1g]. A tenon
in the neck indicates that a head, probably made from another material such as pre-
cious metal, had been added. On another humped quadruped of grey marble, tenons
similarly suggest the addition of legs, tail and perhaps horns to the core of the body
[Figure 30.1h]. Illustrating a new attitude to human representation is a fragmentary
clay figurine of a female holding her hands above her breasts, originally painted with
red body and black head [Figure 30.1e]. This female has been described as monkey-­
like in appearance. The tubular body, wide shoulders, and forward-­extended head are
reminiscent of the Susa I/Obeid traditions, suggesting an underlying layer of continu-
ity at the popular level in the manufacture of sculptures in clay.
At around 2675 BC the first unequivocal reference to Elam appears in the so-­called
Sumerian King List. This period brings about an era of “inter-­Iranian exchange” and
at the same time a new cycle of interaction between the Zagros piedmonts, the Ira-
nian highlands and plateau, the Mesopotamian city-­states and the Persian Gulf. In
the eastern sector of the Susa Acropole, significant sculptural works dating to this
period were found in connection with a temple probably initially belonging to the
Elamite Great Goddess Narundi and dedicated in the Akkadian period to the Sume-
rian goddess Nin-­hursag of Susa “lady of the mountain”, consort of Enki. This coher-
ent corpus of sculptures incorporated no less than 33 statuettes, 12 votive plaques
decorated in relief, animal protomes in stone and a collection of bitumen-­compound
objects without parallel elsewhere (Amiet 1976: 52).
Excavations at Susa produced a small corpus of square-­shaped stone plaques char-
acterised by a large central perforation and carved figural imagery. Such plaques are
well-­known from Mesopotamia where they were incorporated into gateways. Some
of those found at Susa have little in common with the Mesopotamian examples in
terms of manufacture, style and iconography, while others were clearly influenced by
Mesopotamia [e.g. Figure 30.2a–b]. One alabaster plaque [Figure 30.2b] has a hor-
izontal band with a wavy line dividing the space in two registers: the upper register
depicts a cultic banquet with two participants seated on low-­backed chairs, holding
cups and interacting with two possibly naked individuals; the lower exhibits a heroic
scene of a naked, bearded male (perhaps one of the individuals shown in the register
above?) who spears a lion in the act of attacking a bull. A fragmentary plaque found
in the Nin-­hursag temple was also divided in two registers, the lower exhibiting three
males with a long pointed, triangular nose typical of this period, engaged in activities
involving several types of vessels [Figure 30.2d]. The style and iconography of this
plaque are comparable with Early Dynastic Mesopotamian examples.
Numerous objects were fashioned at Susa using a bitumen compound made by
mixing bitumen with silica or ground calcite or quartz, which was first moulded or
modelled into the desired shape and then hardened (perhaps by heat), polished and
decorated with inlaid and engraved details. This compound was used to manufacture
a range of objects, including plaques, vessels and animal protomes. Here again Susa
took advantage of its privileged geographic position bridging west and east to gener-
ate a unique material product, finding close iconographic and stylistic parallels with
chlorite vessels and figurines manufactured in eastern Iran, probably at Jiroft, the
Halil Roud civilization of Kerman.
A damaged plaque found below the paving of the temple of Nin-­hursag depicts
two naked beardless male individuals framing a small calf (?) and two intertwined

605
 — J a v i e r Á l v a r e z - ­M o n —

Figure 30.2  3rd millennium relief plaques and sculpture in limestone

and bitumen (author’s own photographs).

serpents, each biting the tip of its own tail [Figure  30.2e]. Both of the males are
rather muscular and have a strong square chest, long curly hair, large nose, and pro-
truding lips. Their identification as priests may be proposed based on analogies with

606
 — The sculptural arts of Elam —

contemporary votive plaques from Tello and Ur where bald naked priests are shown
offering libations to divinities and temple façades. Their facial and hair features,
however, bring them closer to imagery from Kerman where in addition to a diverse
array of motifs dominated by serpents, lions, zebus, panthers, scorpions, date tree
palms, building facades and water, we see individuals holding serpents with both
hands (Madjidzadeh 2003: 12–17). Similar parallels can be established with a series
of cylindrical vessel supports carved with registers. One example exhibits three plants
with terminals in the shape of leaves [Figure  30.2c]; another has a single register
occupied by four individuals with long hair and long skirt performing a worshiping
gesture [Figure 30.2f].
It is through the manufacture of monumental, elite-­sponsored sculpture that cor-
respondences with Mesopotamia are best exhibited. A corpus of alabaster votive stat-
ues found under the Nin-­hursag temple recall the Early Dynastic votive figures found
beneath the floor of the temple of Abu at Tell Asmar and in the temple of Ishtar at
Mari. These free-­standing sculptures are typified by their long, bulky, fleeced kaunakes
garment which sometimes covers the left shoulder and arm. Their hands are joined
together in front of the chest or waist in a worshiping gesture and their bare feet are
represented in a niche carved in the lower frontal section of the skirt. Variations in the
styles of these figures may indicate chronological variations: one example, possibly
dated ca. 2500, represents an Elamite ruler holding a goat [­Figure 30.3a]. The details
of his face, the weighty kaunakes bulging over his back, and the tail of the goat over
his right arm suggest a naturalistic approach.
From the beginning of the Akkadian period (ca. 2375) to the collapse of the Ur
III (ca. 2004), except for the brief interval marked by the reign of Puzur Inshushi-
nak, the last king of Awan (ca. 2112–2095), Susiana was integrated into the lower
Mesopotamian socio-­economic and political network. A sequence of Mesopotamian
kings governed Susa as part of their political and economic agenda, which involved
both dynastic marriages and military clashes with the eastern polities of highland
Elam and Awan. Mesopotamian presence came to an end in 2004 when a coalition of
Elamites and Su-­people from the land of Shimashki captured Ur and its King Ibbi-­Sin
was taken prisoner to Anshan together with the statues of Nanna and other Sumerian
divinities.
Some Akkadian and Sumerian rulers, as well as their governors, dedicated stat-
ues to the gods of various localities under their control, including Susa. Amongst
these, Eshpum, “governor of Elam” and servant of Manishtusu (2269–2255) at Susa,
usurped an earlier (EDI or II period; ca. 2700) Elamite statue representing a wor-
shiper in alabaster and dedicated it to the goddess Narundi at Susa [Figure 30.3b].
This practice of appropriating earlier works introduces inevitable difficulties into the
attribution of an exceptional corpus of fragmentary sculptures found at Susa carved
in olivine gabro from Iran or Oman and, in lesser numbers, limestone. Some were
clearly manufactured in Mesopotamia and judging by the inscriptions added later,
had been brought to Susa in the 12th century by the Elamite king Shutruk Nahhunte.
For those without inscriptions, scholars continue to deliberate over whether they
too were usurped or were made locally. This particular problem has not yet been
resolved for a number of works associated with Puzur-­Inshushinak; one of the first
Elamite kings to attack Mesopotamia. His kingdom is marked by the presence of
a language known as linear-­Elamite (sometimes also referred to as proto-­Elamite

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Figure 30.3  3rd millennium monumental sculpture (author’s own photographs).

B), which appears side-­by-­side with the Akkadian language in bilingual inscriptions
carved on the sculptures.
Whether locally made or seized from neighbouring Mesopotamia, these sculptures
reveal a new approach to statuary manufacture characterized by life-­size and large-­scale

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representations, clearly influenced by the imperial workshops of Akkad (Álvarez-­Mon

forthcoming b). The lower half of a limestone victory commemoration statue found
under the paving of the temple of Inshushinak represents an individual wearing an
elegantly modelled wraparound robe [Figure 30.3d]. Fringes knotted into distinctive
tassels form an elegant sequence along the borders and the skirt is cut away at the
front to show the bare feet atop a sculpture base preserving fragmentary captions and
relief depictions of four floating human corpses. A similar garment is depicted on the
preserved lower half of a sculpture representing a seated individual with sandalled
feet [Figure 30.3c]. Covering the seat and skirt is an Akkadian inscription providing
an account of Puzur-­Inshushinak’s conquering exploits. Both sculptures suggest that a
significant change took place in the history of royal garments, with the abandonment of
the heavy fleeced kaunakes in favour of a lighter wraparound fringed robe. This devel-
opment may have occurred early in the Akkadian period under Sargon or Manishtusu
and seems to have influenced later ruling classes of Mesopotamia’s neighbours, from
Mari’s shakkanaku rulers Iddi-­Ilum and Puzur-­Ishtar to Susa’s Puzur-­Inshushinak.
A more traditional approach was taken in the representation of the exceptional
statue of the Elamite goddess Narundi discovered inside a small shrine located to the
south of the Nin-­hursag temple [Figure 30.3e]. The enthroned goddess, who holds a
vessel in one hand and a branch in the other, is dressed in a kaunakes and a divine
headdress with triple row of horns. A series of holes in the surface of her face, ears
and possibly headdress suggest they were once embellished with incrustations or sheet
metal. Her throne is positioned atop a platform decorated on the front with two lions
facing a flower/rosette, on the sides with two roaring lions sitting on their haunches,
and on the back with two roaring lions standing back-­to-­back, each holding a pole.
Further illustrating the diverse sculptural production of the time are a pair of couch-
ant lions with a vertical hole through their midsection found near the Inshushinak tem-
ple; a votive boulder with lion head; and two inscribed boulders with coiled serpents. The
largest of these (see Pittman, Chapter 29 in this volume) was vertically perforated and
bears a fragmentary register depicting a massive roaring couchant lion facing a deity who
kneels on one knee and holds an oversized foundation nail. Behind him stands a suppli-
ant goddess with raised hands. Yet another variation in rendering showing close parallels
with Akkadian sculpture is a series of fragmentary reliefs carved on the base of a diorite
statue, representing individuals with long beard and long hair tied back in a bun-­style
arrangement. One clearly wears a cylinder seal strung around his neck [Figure 30.4a].
A small corpus of female figures displays a refined local approach to the depic-
tion of garments and an assortment of hairstyles and headdresses: a small head in
alabaster, a limestone relief representing a suppliant goddess, several small alabaster
worshiper figurines [e.g. Figs. 4c-­d]; and, from a burial context, an elegant gypsum
figurine whose missing arms and head had probably been made from a different
material and fitted into the tenons provided.
At the popular level, a multitude of terracotta female figurines testify to a contin-
uous vernacular tradition of clay modelling. At around 2100 BC, the use of single-­
faced moulds for casting clay figurines virtually supplanted hand modelling. Initially
the moulds were shallow and reproduced hand-­modelled types to give the impression
of sculpture in the round, but later the back was flattened and excess clay left around
the figure’s silhouette, forming a frame. Thus was born the figurine-­plaque, which
would become widespread during the second millennium.

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Figure 30.4  3rd millennium monumental stone sculpture

(author’s own photographs).

FROM REGIONAL P OW E R TO E M P IRE

(CA. 2 0 0 0 –15 0 0 B C)
The sculptural arts of the Old Elamite period reflect a time of increasing wealth. By
now the power of the kingdom was concentrated in two major centres: the western
lowland capital of Susa and the eastern capital of Anshan (Tal-­e Malyan). Sculpture

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of this period was produced in differing scales across three media: carved rock relief
(a monumental relief at Kurangun), modelled clay (monumental lions, figurines, and
funerary heads) and carved bitumen-­compound (vessels).
The open air sanctuary of Kurangun is situated on the ancient highway linking
Susa and Anshan. It features a rock relief carved on a cliff ca. 80 m above ground
level atop an outcrop of the Kuh-­e Pataweh [Figure 30.5a], overlooking the Fahliyan
River as it flows through the panoramic Mamasani region. The relief offers an excep-
tional manifestation of Elamite art and religious ideology. The vertical cliffside was
cut out to create a three-­dimensional spatial unit oriented in a north-­west/south-­east
direction. Three flights of rock-­cut stairs descend from the summit of the outcrop
down to a rectangular 5 × 2 m platform cut out to form a basin. Still visible on the
horizontal basin floor are remnants of 26 relief-­carved fish. On the vertical surface
is a rectangular panel carved in low-­relief illustrating an enthroned divine couple.
The bearded male divinity sits on a coiled serpent throne holding a ring and rod in
his right hand from which two arched streams of water emerge. One flows forwards
and one backwards towards two groups of elite worshipers, most likely composed
of two males and a female. This scene displays an iconic Elamite visual formula
shared by Old and Middle Elamite seals, stelae and, most likely, replicated in three-­
dimensional sculptural form [see Figures 30.7a, b, d]. The central panel and stairs
were carved sometime between the 19th and 17th centuries BC (Kurangun I). The
relief was expanded between the 9th and 8th centuries with the addition of a series
of worshipers, characterised by their short garments and long braided hair ending
in a knob, along the staircases and on both sides of the central panel (Kurangun II).
More worshipers were incorporated on the right side at the end of the Neo-­Elamite
period (Kurangun III). The reliefs are not visible from the bottom of the valley, sug-
gesting that direct interaction with the sanctuary and its divinities took place via the
pathway provided by the staircases leading to the intimate narrow platform, where
the worshiper was graced with a dramatic natural setting pulsating with a numinous
vitality (Álvarez-­Mon 2014).
Also surviving in monumental scale are two painted terracotta guardian lion
sculptures that guarded a temple in the southeast of Susa’s Ville Royale [Fig-
ure  30.4b]. The best-­preserved of these measures 86  cm high and 75  cm long.
Cylindrical frames provide the body and forelegs, over which the head, rear legs
and paws were added. The lion’s mouth is wide open, revealing its teeth and small
projecting tongue. The style of composition is reminiscent of two guardian lions
(ca. 1800) from the Dagan temple of Shaduppum (Tell Harmal), a small provincial
centre of the kingdom of Eshnunna.
The art of terracotta survived also in miniature figurines of kaunakes-­robed god-
desses with arms raised in a gesture of salutation and worship. The presence of two
holes in one of these sculptures suggests they may have been fixed to a wall. Further
indication of the popularity of terracotta figurines and their variety of styles is pro-
vided by a corpus of single-­faced moulded figurines representing a musician (a priest?)
playing a small harp [Figure 30.5b] a man wearing a long robe with fringed cloak,
carrying a staff and a male goat [Figure 30. 5c], naked females clasping their hands
in front [Figure 30.5d] and, most unusual, a woman laying on a bed (?) breastfeeding
a child [Figure 30.5e]. Because these figurines were cast-­made, one is tempted to con-
template a large-­scale reproduction and dissemination of this unique imagery.

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Figure 30.5  Old Elamite. Kurangun monumental rock relief and terracotta
sculpture (author’s own photographs; line drawing after L. Vanden Berghe 1984:
28, Figure 2).

Further exceptional examples of Elamite clay sculptural production are the mod-
elled, life-­size human heads deposited in funerary contexts. Since some were placed in
association with the deceased’s skull, their serene and contented facial features may

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represent an idealized portrait of either the departed or their relatives. Most were
modelled in clay around a central hollow cylindrical goblet with eyes made separately
and placed inside the ocular openings. One remarkable female head is represented
with either a headdress or a complex braided hairstyle. Her face is broad, with a thick
mono-­brow, large eyes and nose, rounded cheeks, and a slightly protruding chin.
Some heads were evidently painted. For example, one male head with a characteristic
“visor” hair-­style, narrow bearded face, mono-­brow and large almond-­shaped eyes
retains traces of its original polychrome decoration in white, red, blue and yellow
colours (Álvarez-­Mon 2005).
A rare surviving example of ivory-­carved sculpture is a remarkable small, headless
figurine, measuring 9.4 cm in height, representing a female (a queen?) clasping her
hands together in front. Her elegantly modelled wraparound robe and long scarf with
distinctive tasselled borders recall the robe of Puzur-­Inshushinak. Further elaborating
this costume are a pair of bracelets on each wrist and a choker-­style necklace with a
counterweight at the back.
Another unique Elamite sculptural corpus is a series of bitumen-­compound vessels,
mostly also found in burial contexts, whose function remains open to speculation.
The manufacture of these vessels evolves into a new artistic tradition of remarkable
longevity. Animals are now depicted either in relief or with their head or whole body
emerging from the vessel in the form of a three dimensional sculpture. In the latter
case, for example, a protruding couchant ibex turning its head to look backwards or
a pair of standing suppliant goddesses wearing kaunakes robes might have served as
the vessel handle. In a further intricate composition, a round platter is supported by
three legs carved separately and attached to the vessel with a mortise. The leg termi-
nals are in the shape of ibex whose rear body and horns extend elegantly backwards
to integrate into the leg of the vessel.

THE GOLDEN AGE (CA. 1 5 0 0 – 1 1 0 0 B C)

The second half of the second millennium was a dynamic period in the history of
Elamite politics and sculptural production. The first part of this period is dominated
by the figure of Untash-­Napirisha (ca. 1340–1300), a ruler of Kassite maternal lineage.
His reign is marked by an artistic golden age and a religious “revolution” evidenced
in the foundation of a vast cultic complex known as Al Untash-­Napirisha (Choga
Zanbil). Other key players who appear later in this period are Shutruk-­Nahhunte and
his two sons Kutir-­Nahhunte (1155–1150) and Shilhak-­Inshushinak (1150–1120).
The cultural accomplishments of the Shutrukid dynasty are often obscured by their
infamous actions in Mesopotamia, which continued a long-­standing foreign policy
of vindication whereby Elamite kings of combined Elamite-­Kassite ancestry asserted
their claim on the Babylonian throne. Elamite raids on Mesopotamian cities eventu-
ally ended with the collapse of the Kassite dynasty in 1155 BC, marked by the death
of the Kassite king, the “retirement” to Elam of Babylon’s statue of Marduk and
other deities and the removal to Susa of a substantial volume of “trophy”. By bring-
ing numerous ancestral sculptural masterpieces to Susa as gifts to the Elamite gods –
amongst the most celebrated being the Victory Stele of Naram-­Sin and the Code of
Hammurabi  – these Middle-­Elamite rulers positioned themselves as the legitimate
inheritors of Mesopotamian heritage.

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During this period, the arts of terracotta modelling continue to exhibit unique
Elamite expressions of genuine creativity. Two exceptional human heads and a mask
found in the same “artist’s workshop” at Haft Tappeh, and two funerary heads from
Susa deliver insights into the individualised treatment of the face and adornment.
Both Haft Tappeh heads were constructed around a hollow cylindrical core. One
is described as the portrait of a male [Figure 30.6a] and has a smooth hairless face,
almond-­shaped inlaid eyes, a mono-­brow, and elaborately braided hair. The hairstyle
is complemented by a headdress comprising a pair of bands originally painted a
brown-­yellow colour and adorned with raised circular bosses painted at the centre to
replicate incrustations. A sophisticated necklace made of four parallel rows of ivory-­
like beads surrounds the neck. The second head, described as the portrait of a female
[Figure  30.6b], also has an elaborate braided hairstyle finished with a wide band
painted blue with brown borders and decorated by raised circular bosses painted
black and white. The two painted heads from Susa are both male and share similar
characteristics. They are modelled around a hollow cylindrical core and like the Old
Elamite examples, the eyes were made separately and inlaid into the ocular holes. The
hairstyle is modelled in the typical Elamite “visor-­style” and the beard demarcated
using small squares with incised curls.
The Middle Elamite period brings forth a rich corpus of moulded terracotta sculp-
ture, which evolves and diversifies to include bejewelled naked females with narrow
or broad hips holding their breasts [e.g. Figures 30.6c-d]; naked couples lying on a
bed [e.g. Figure 30.6f]; and naked, bow-­legged elderly men playing a string instru-
ment (the ancestor of the tar) and sometimes carrying a monkey on their shoulders
[Figure  30.6e]. These popular artistic expressions do not seem to find parallels in
round sculpture. Instead, except for animal representations which continue to be
manufactured in terracotta and stone, a new durable artificial material known as
faience – a glazed sintered quartz body with high siliceous content and low clay –
began to dominate miniature sculptural representation. Examples found in a temple
dedicated to the goddess Pinigir at Choga Zanbil include the head of a young indi-
vidual (a female?) with short hair and mono-­brow [Figure 30.6h]; the headless body
of a female who holds her hands, one overlapping the other, in front of her waist
and wears bracelets and a long garment with circle decoration and fringed borders
[Figure 30.6g]; and a vessel in the form of a head with a smiling face [Figure 30.6i].
Three votive male figurines in faience, one holding a dove in his hands, were found
in a funerary context near the temple of Inshushinak at Susa. Their visor hairstyle,
lack of facial hair, mono-­brow, large nose, and broad shoulders underline a general
approach to male representation at this time.
An impressive body of royal-­sponsored sculptural works dated to this period
includes stone sculpture in the round, stelae and monumental low relief carved in
stone and monumental moulded baked brick relief friezes. To the first group belongs
a fragmentary throne made of three coiled serpents with a single-­horned head that
either sticks out its tongue or spits a flame [Figure 30.7b]. As mentioned above, this
piece recalls the divine snake thrones represented on royal seals and in the Kurangun
relief. A fragmentary sculpture of a male divinity with long beard, side hair locks and
naked chest, holding a double serpent in his right hand, may have originally been
associated with such a throne [Figure 30.7a]. The theme of the serpent as a protec-
tive guardian takes a further dimension as a transmuted “dragon head” door-­lock

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Figure 30.6  Middle Elamite. Terracotta and faience sculpture

(author’s own photographs).

mechanism. The symbolism of the “serpent-­dragon” in Elamite cosmology as a pro-

tective being that can permeate both physical and metaphysical realms becomes
apparent in the fragmentary stele of Untash Napirisha [Figure 30.7d]. This ca. 2.6 m

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Figure 30.7  Middle Elamite. Monumental stone sculpture and highland

rock relief (author’s own photographs).

high monument is divided into four registers by guilloches. The top register  – the
celestial realm – depicts a divinity, probably Inshushinak, sitting on a serpent throne
holding a staff and a serpent. The register below – the earthly realm – depicts the king

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facing a female priestess named Utik (perhaps the king’s mother) and behind him
stands his wife Napir-­Asu. In the register below – the sweet flowing water realm – two
fish goddesses covered with scales hold cordlike streams of water that flow between
vessels at the tips of their tails and at the top of the register. The remaining portion of
the bottom register – the undergrowth realm – depicts a goat-­man who stands facing
a tree, grasping its branches. It is usually presumed that a mirror image of a second
goat-­man can be reconstructed for the missing portion. The entire composition, from
bottom to top register, is vertically framed by two serpents whose bodies penetrate
all four layers.
Providing evidence for sculptural art of the Shutrukid dynasty is a relief panel
from Shekaft-­e Salman in the valley of Izeh/Malamir depicting a king, prince and
queen of the Shutrukid royal family [Figure 30.7c]. The relief is elevated 8.5 m high,
to the right of a large natural cave with a water source and a seasonal waterfall.
All three figures are oriented towards the cave and make a worshiping gesture. The
king is portrayed with the “visor” hairstyle, long beard, long pair of side braids and
back braid; the queen wears a well-­fitted spherical bonnet, hair pulled up in a bun
and a broad collar around the neck with an extension at the back. These physical
attributes are idealized signatures of Elamite royalty, which is contrasted with the
non-­official imagery of the monarch found, for example, in a “family portrait” of
Shilhak-­Inshushinak engraved on a jasper pebble. Here the king hands a gift to his
daughter, the princess Bar-­Uli. He wears a short-­sleeved, long garment ending in a
fringe and a pair of bracelets on each wrist; the right arm and hand rest over his lap
with extended fingers; the left hand is raised and holds a small rounded object, maybe
a self-­reference to the jasper pebble. The princess, who wears a distinctive long robe
with wide sleeves, extends a hand towards her father. This same king was responsible
for a monumental moulded baked brick wall frieze, probably part of the kumpum
kidua (exterior sanctuary) of Inshushinak in the Apadana. No less than 20 heads of
the bull-­man divinity belonging to this composition were found. Their association
with a series of what must have been at least 20 pairs of alternating palm trees and
suppliant goddesses points to a temple façade of remarkable dimensions.

THE FIRST MIL L E NNIU M

The first millennium saw an outburst of faience production distinguished by a mas-
tery of technological skills, the use of playful, vibrant colours and the adaptation
into various formats of a vivid numinous world populated by winged griffins and
horses, bearded sphinxes, horned geniuses, bovine gods and goddesses, as well as
horses, lions, bulls and human worshipers. These themes are manifested in a variety
of objects: plaques, pegs, figurines and knobs and pyxides with protomes. One exam-
ple of the latter is a finely carved square container with two female heads projecting
from opposite sides. Underneath each head is a relief depiction of a bird-­headed
griffin flanking a tree; on the other two opposing sides are bearded androcephalic
sphinxes in relief.
The dominance of faience may in part explain the visible reduction of traditional
bitumen production. A 9.3 × 13 cm relief plaque provides a rare and celebrated exam-
ple of the use of bitumen compound at this time. It depicts an elite Elamite woman
seated on a chair with her legs crossed spinning yarn [Figure  30.8a]. One of her

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Figure 30.8  Neo-­Elamite sculpture. [a, b, c] relief plaques; [d] base of sculpture;
[e] stele of Atta-­Hamiti Inshushinak; and [f] Neo-­Elamite monumental rock relief
from Kul-­e Farah (KF1) (author’s own photographs and line-­drawings).

most distinctive features is her voluminous mass of long hair sectioned and collected
into an elegant arrangement on top of her head. The hairstyle is completed by three
further sections of hair circling below the ear and a single narrow band encircling

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the head. She carries six bracelets on each arm and wears a mantle or shawl with a
ladder-­style border decorated with disks. Of much interest to note is that in contrast
to other contemporary and earlier depictions of elite clothing, fringes are not shown
along the borders. This absence recalls the Assyrian qalpu garment (stripped/peeled/
divested of fringes). Her unusual garment, elaborate hair, and gesture of holding (and
turning?) a spindle, together with the table in front her laden with a fish and round-­
shaped cakes (?) and the servant fanning her from behind are suggestive of a ritual
context.
An object of great interest thought to have been originally manufactured in Meso-
potamia during the Kassite period is a stelae depicting an enthroned divinity offering
the rod and ring to a ruler who stands facing him on the opposite side of an incense
burner or fire-­stand with triangular-­head. The stele was recut to replace the presumed
image of a Kassite ruler with an Elamite one. The king has a “visor” hair-­style com-
plemented by a pair of long side braids ending in a loop and a small braid at the back.
The dating of this addition remains unresolved; at present only a broad 12th–8th
century range can be offered (Álvarez-­Mon 2015b:19).
Belonging to a period of renewal at Susa after 625 BC is a small corpus of limestone
plaques and stelae embellished with relief. One limestone plaque that had originally
belonged to a monumental construction, perhaps of religious character, was carved
with an image of a divine being striding with a dagger raised in the left hand and a
fantastic hybrid following behind [Figure 30.8b]. A lotus border frames the compo-
sition and at its center is a pierced rosette. Another limestone plaque depicts a four-­
winged beardless genius kneeling on one knee, followed by a human-­headed winged
scorpion with lion paws [Figure  30.8c]. The genius wears an Elamite-­style helmet
with a rounded protuberance on top and perhaps a frontal visor. Together they attest
to an urban-­based sculptural production of an Elamo-­Assyrian style, reflecting both a
history of interaction with Assyria and a post-­Assyrian political and cultural Elamite
“renaissance”. This period may have incorporated the kingdom of Atta-­hamiti Ins-
hushinak, whose reign has been dated variously between ca. 650 and 520. From the
Acropole at Susa was recovered a fragmentary stele with a low relief panel depicting
Atta-­hamiti-­Inshushinak, son of Hutran-­tepti, “king of Anshan and Susa, expander of
the realm, master of Elam, sovereign of Elam, together with his queen [Figure 30.8e].
The king wears a composite hemispherical helmet decorated with rosettes and a heav-
ily ornamented garment bordered by typical Neo-­Elamite ladder bands with bracte-
ates and fringes. His beard is comprised of rows of short locks and long straight locks,
and there is a distinct absence of hair over the tip of his chin. Facing him is the Elamite
queen dressed in a well-­fitted spherical bonnet and a robe ornamented with broad
fringes and ladder bands with nested circles. She wears a necklace linked at the back
by a knob-­shaped clasp. From the clasp emerges a long hatched extension that runs
along the shoulder. Though fragmentary, the representation of this late Neo-­Elamite
queen bears remarkable similarities to the late Middle-­Elamite Elamite queens (12th
century) at Shekaft-­e Salmān (Īzeh/Mālamīr), further emphasizing artistic continuity
in the representation of female royal accouterments and perhaps garments.
Another exceptional, though damaged, example of late Elamite sculptural art is a
square basalt pedestal (59 × 59 cm) sculpted in relief on three of its four faces. One
side (Face A; shown in Figure 30.8d) depicts two wounded or dead individuals – one
with dislocated arms and legs – being consumed by vultures. Another is falling head

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first, about to crash against the rocks below. A second side (Face B) depicts a naked
bearded individual whose hands are tied behind his back. A third side (Face C) may
represent a family followed by a smirking conqueror who grasps the hair of the man
in front. The scene takes place at the base of a walled town and can be considered
one of the last Near Eastern visual expressions in a long tradition of representing the
aftermath of the conquest of a city (Álvarez-­Mon forthcoming a).
At Kul-­e Farah (henceforth also KF) in the highland valley of Izeh/Malamir, six
rock reliefs (KFI-VI) dating to the Neo-­Elamite period survive today in various states
of preservation. They were carved in a natural “amphitheatre”, which is surrounded
by cliffs on three sides and has a seasonal creek whose source is located at the south-
ern end of the gorge. These reliefs underline the significance of the natural landscape
(caves, waterfalls, water sources) in determining locations for the enactment of reli-
gious rituals and the placement of monumental reliefs without parallel in the artistic
record of the ancient Near East. Except for the relief of KFI, which can be dated to
ca. 650–575 after its inscription by Hanni, ruler of Aiapir, the other reliefs must be
dated on stylistic grounds.
KFIV (9th–8th centuries) expands along the vertical surface of the rock cliff (ca.
17.70 m long and 6 m high). It depicts a communal banquet with no less than 141
participants whose position in the social hierarchy is determined by their placement
inside parallel registers, the activities they perform and their type of garment [Fig-
ure  30.9a]. Presiding over the ceremony is a king seated on a long-­backed throne
framed by two tables set with food and vessels. He is accompanied by attendants; a
group of individuals wearing long garments; a weapon-­bearer/chief archer (carrying a
bow, quiver and sword); archers; six harp players and a conductor. The remainder of
the group comprises more than 100 similarly represented individuals in short kilted
garments. The best preserved of these is depicted with one hand positioned directly
in front of his mouth holding a morsel of food, most likely a piece of meat. He is
represented in profile, except for his chest, which is shown frontally. He has broad
shoulders, narrow waist, short kilted garment and hair collected into a distinctive long
braid. In his left hand he holds a short bow. Sections of the hair, neck, back and right
shoulder have preserved evidence of the plaster, engraving and possibly pigmentation
originally added to the surface of the relief. While much of the volume of the relief has
been lost through surface erosion, it is still possible to appreciate the “natural” plastic
treatment of body parts achieved by combining a relatively shallow depth of carving
with smooth plastering of the surfaces (Álvarez-­Mon 2013, 2015a, forthcoming a).
The vertical surfaces of boulder KFIII (8th–7th centuries) were entirely carved
with a procession of about 200 participants and herds of domestic animals. At the
head of the procession, a large male figure, perhaps a king or a deity, stands atop a
platform supported by four kneeling male individuals who wear long fringed gar-
ments and head caps. Behind follow two flocks of 18 rams and three zebus, groups of
naked (?) individuals and more groups in long and short garments. Three harp play-
ers face another oversized figure followed by large numbers of worshipers arranged
in parallel registers. Individual N180 is one of the best preserved of the group; he
makes a “clasped hands” gesture and his hair style combines a short braid at the back
and a protruding “visor” hairstyle at the front (Álvarez-­Mon forthcoming a).
The reliefs of KFII and VI (7th–6th centuries) were also carved on boulders. KFII
is characterised by the presence of four individuals inside a well-­defined rectangular

620
 — The sculptural arts of Elam —

Figure 30.9  Neo-­Elamite highland reliefs from [a] Kul-­e Farah (KFIV);
and [b] Naqsh-­e Rustam (author’s own photographs and line-­drawings).

panel; one large-­scale individual, and a sacrificial scene showing two naked individu-
als. One stands making a gesture in a backward direction; the other is bent over butch-
ering a zebu. Below are the carcasses of six sheep with large rounded horns. KFVI
was carved over the northwest face of a rock boulder and shows another large-­scale
individual standing on a podium carried atop a platform by four platform bearers.

621
 — J a v i e r Á l v a r e z - ­M o n —

Standing behind are nine worshipers arranged along three horizontal registers in
groups of three. A  single worshiper is located to the right of the platform bearers.
Except for two of the platform bearers, all individuals are oriented towards the left.
The heavily eroded KFV (7th–6th centuries) is carved near KFIV on the vertical cliff
face of a rocky outcrop on the left bank of the creek. Its iconography and composi-
tional structure are similar to KFII, with a large-­scale human figure facing the sacrifice
of animals and four worshipers arranged behind him on a vertical register. A novel
element is the inclusion of a fire altar (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a, 2015, forthcoming a).
The most recent is KFI (650–575); a multifaceted artwork assimilating aspects of
the earlier Kul-­e Farah and Shekaft-­e Salman reliefs [Figure 30.8f]. A large Elamite
cuneiform inscription occupying the upper half of the relief identifies the large fig-
ure as Hanni, son of Tahhi, “prince” or “chief” (kutur) of Aiapir and vassal of the
Elamite king Shutur-­Nahhunte, son of Indada. Hanni wears a bulbous cap, waist-­
length braid, and heavily fringed garments decorated with rosettes; behind him stand
the smaller figures of two court officials, a weapon bearer (captioned “Shutruru, the
Master of the Palace”) carrying a bow, quiver and sword and an individual wearing
a long flounced garment making a clasped-­hands gesture. A trio of musicians play a
horizontal harp, a vertical harp and a square drum, while a zebu is butchered next to
the carcasses of rams and a fire altar or censer (Álvarez-­Mon forthcoming a).
Not unlike the central relief of the Kurangun open-­air sanctuary, the central panel
of the ca. 17th-­century-­BC relief carved at Naqsh-­e Rustam near Persepolis shows the
vestiges of a divine couple seated on a characteristic divine throne of coiled serpents
[Figure 30.9b]. Additions were made to this relief during the Neo-­Elamite period but
would later be almost completely obliterated by the cutting of a new panel at the time
of the Sasanian King Bahram II (276–293 AD). Only the remains of a crowned head
of a “lady” or “queen” were preserved on the left side, and on the right side, around
the corner, a standing individual sometimes identified as a king. This series of reliefs
manifests a continuity of cultic practices for around two millennia at this important
religious center. Besides their religious dimensions, the late Neo-­Elamite additions
have significant political implications. In this region of Fars associated with the east-
ern capital of Anshan, the incorporation of a crowned queen sometime in the second
half of the 7th or the early 6th century BC assumes all the appearance of an official
claim and a statement of political control (Álvarez-­Mon 2010b).

REF EREN CE S
Álvarez-­Mon, J. 2005. Elamite Funerary Clay Heads. Near Eastern Archaeology 68/3: 114–122.
———. 2010a. Platform Bearers from Kūl-­e Farah III and VI. Iran (Journal of the British Insti-
tute of Persian Studies) 48: 27–41.
———. 2010b. The Arjan Tomb: at the Crossroads of the Elamite and Persian Empires. Leu-
ven: Peeters.
———. 2013. Braids of Glory, Elamite Sculptural Reliefs from the Highlands: Kul-­e Farah IV.
In: De Graef, K. and Tavernier, J. (eds.) Susa and Elam. Archaeological, Philological, Histor-
ical and Geographical Perspectives. Ghent: Peeters, 207–248.
———. 2014. Aesthetics of the Natural Environment in the Ancient Near East: the Elamite
Rock-­cut Sanctuary of Kurangun. In: Feldman, M. and Brown, B. (eds.) Critical Approaches
to Ancient Near Eastern Art. Berlin: De Gruyter, 741–771.
———. 2015a. A Highland Elamite Archer from Kūl-­e Farah IV, CI:4. Iranica Antiqua 50: 251–278.

622
 — The sculptural arts of Elam —

———. 2015b. Platforms of Exaltation, Elamite Sculptural Reliefs from the Highlands: Kūl-­e
Farah VI. Elamica 4: 1–50.
———. forthcoming a. Monumental Reliefs of the Elamite Highlands. Eisenbrauns.
———. forthcoming b. Puzur-­Inšušinak, last king of Akkad? Text, Image and Context Recon-
sidered. In: Elam and its Neighbours. Proceedings of the 2016 International Congress Held
at Johannes Gutenberg University of Mainz (Germany).
Amiet, P. 1966. Elam. Auvers sur Oise: Archée Éditeur.
———. 1970. L’art d’Agadé au Musée du Louvre. Paris: Réunion des Musées Nationaux.
———. 1976. Contributions à l’histoire de la sculpture archaïque. Cahiers de la Délégation
archéologique française en Iran 6: 47–82.
———. 1986. L’âge des échanges inter-­iraniens 3500–1700 avant J.-C. Paris: Réunion des
Musées Nationaux.
———. 1988. Suse 6000 ans d’histoire. Paris: Monographies des musées de France.
Börker-­Klähn, J. 1982. Altvorderasiatische Bildstellen und vergleichbare Felsreliefs, 2 Vols.
Mainz am Rhein: Phillipp von Zabern.
Connan, J. and Deschesne, O. 1996. Le bitume à Suse: Collection du Musée du Louvre. Paris:
Réunion des Musées Nationaux.
Harper, P.O., Aruz, J. and Tallon, F. 1992. The Royal City of Susa: Ancient Near Eastern Trea-
sures in the Louvre. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Madjidzadeh, Y. 2003. Jiroft, the Earliest Oriental Civilization. Tehran: ICHO.
Miroschedji, P. de. 1973. Vases et objets en steatite susiens du Musee du Louvre. Cahiers de la
Délégation archéologique française en Iran 3: 9–78.
———. 1981. Le dieu Élamite au serpent et aux eaux jaillissantes. Iranica Antiqua 16: 1–25.
Seidl, U. 1986. Die Elamischen Felsreliefs von Kurangūn und Naqsh-­e Rustam, Iranische Den-
kmäler 12/II/H. Berlin: Deutches Archaologisches Institut.
Spycket, A. 1981. La Statuaire Du Proche-­Orient Ancien. Leiden: Brill.
———. 1992. Les figurines de Suse 1: Les figurines humaines; IV-II millénaires av. J.C.
Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 52. Paris: Gabalda.
Vanden Berghe, L. 1984. Reliefs rupestres de l’Iran ancien. Bruxelles: Musées royaux d’art et
d’histoire.

F URTHER R E AD ING
While a comprehensive study of Elamite sculpture is still wanting, the present summary has
profited from the important contributions made to this area of studies by Pierre Amiet
(1966, 1970, 1976, 1986 and 1988), Pierre de Miroschedji (1973, 1981), Jutta Börker-­
Klähn (1982), numerous entries dedicated to sculpture in The Royal City of Susa (1992)
and, most particularly, the work of Agnès Spycket (1981 and 1992). An excellent resource
for Elamite bitumen sculpture is provided by Jacques Connan and Odile Deschesne (1996).
The present author has also contributed with various publications treating Elamite sculp-
tural art and highland reliefs (Álvarez-­Mon 2005, 2010a, 2010b, 2013, 2014, 2015a,
2015b, forthcoming a).

623
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

GLYPTIC IN THE 4TH–2ND

MILLENNIUM

Enrico Ascalone

INTRODU CTIO N
The history of Elam commences with the appearance of the proto-­cuneiform writ-
ing system in Susa III (levels 17–16 of the Acropole) and the mention of its name in
administrative texts of Urukagina of Lagash around the middle of the 3rd millennium
BC. However, widespread evidence of common artistic expressions in glyptic art orig-
inating from an Elamite cultural background can already be seen at the beginning of
3rd millennium BC, with a homogenous cultural horizon involving the main political
structures of western, central and eastern Iran (see Proto-­Elamite Period). Seals and
sealings were, however, widely known before the Proto-­Elamite period and represent
one of the most important sources of evidence for the cultural development of the
Susiana plain and Iranian highlands.
The first evidence of seals in Iran extends back to the Early Chalcolithic period at
Seh Gabi and Tepe Sabz (Kurdistan), when stamp seals exhibit the geometric decora-
tion that would remain a key feature for the entire Chalcolithic period. These same
geometric seals were found at Hissar I, where they are generally square in shape,
although round and oval versions also occur. To be dated to the same period are
the specimens from Tall-­i Bakun with crossed lines attested at the end of the Ubaid
period. Susa A seals found on the terrace of Susa bear cross-­shaped designs very close
to the Bakun tradition, and a small number represent humans or animals (gener-
ally bovines or goats) (Figure 31.2a-­b). During the end of the 4th millennium BC in
the Susa II period (Uruk phase; found in levels 27–17 of the Acropole), the themes,
styles, iconography and morphology of seals undergo change. This production should
be considered contemporary with the glyptic of Uruk IV, with new depictions in a
broader scenic field, now representing rows of animals and anthropomorphic beings
(Figure  31.2c-­d). A  new, widely discussed, production is attested in the so-­called
Proto-­Elamite period, when the first Elamite indicators were incorrectly identified for
a long time in the material collected in the same layers of the tablets of the Susa III
period (see Proto-­Elamite Period).
From the last years of the 4th millennium BC it is possible to follow an uninter-
rupted line of development, with discordances and heterogeneities, in the production

624
Figure 31.1  Regional developments of glyptic art during the Old-­Elamite period (after Ascalone 2011: Figure 7.1).
 Figure 31.2  [a-­b] Susa A seal impressions from Susa after Amiet 1972:
nn. 220–231; [c-­d] Uruk-­type seal impressions from Susa II after Aruz, Harper and
Tallon 1992: nn. 22 and 28; [e-­f] Proto-­Elamite seals from Susa III after
Mecquenem 1934: 195, Figure 30: 5 and Amiet 1972: n. 1000; [g-­h] Early
Dynastic seals (Early group) from Susa IVA after Ascalone 2011: nn. 1A.19–20;
[i-­j] Early Dynastic seals (Later group) from Susa IVA after Ascalone 2011:
nn. 1A.51, 57.
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

of seals in the Elamite sphere. This line of development will be studied from a dia-
chronic perspective to identify, wherever possible, internal sub-­phases of production,
contextual evidence and historical meanings (Tab. 31.1 and Figure 31.1).

PROTO- E
­ LAMITE P ERIOD (CA. 3 1 0 0 – 2 8 0 0 /
2 7 0 0 BC)
After the Uruk phase known in Lower Mesopotamia and Susiana, a new period
was born. This Susa III period was identified as ‘Proto-­Elamite’, following V. Scheil’s
(1900) initial attempt to create a relationship between a large group of Susa texts
bearing seal impressions (approximately 1550) and the later Elamite tablets. The
texts were found in levels 16–14b of the Acropole and in a limited excavation of the
Ville Royale, confirming a date around the end of the 4th, and the beginning of 3rd
millennium BC. There is no evidence, however, to confirm the purported link with
the later Elamite tablets, either linguistically or graphically, and from a figurative and
artistic perspective, no continuity is attested between the Proto-­Elamite and the Old-­
Elamite period glyptic in either iconography or in style.

Susa III
The Proto-­Elamite chronological sequences at Susa are well known in the third period
of the city. The IIIA period has been identified in levels 16–14 of the Acropole, levels
18–15 of the Ville Royale, and in the Cc and Da stylistic phases of L. Le Breton, while
the IIIB phase is attested in layers 14–13 of Ville Royale and the Db phase. The same
markers of the Proto-­Elamite cultural horizon have been found at Tall-­i Ghazir, Tall-­i
Malyan (Middle and Late Banesh), Shahr-­i Sokhta I, Tepe Sofalin, Arisman, Tol-­e
Nurabad, Tepe Siyalk IV, Tepe Hissar, Godin Tepe, Ozbaki, Tepe Yahya (IVC period),
Miri Qalat IIIC and Mahtoutabad III.

Proto-­Elamite production
During the last years of the Uruk period, a Susian tradition emerged that would be
well represented in successive Proto-­Elamite corpora (Figure 31.2e–f). As proposed
by H. Pittman (2001), the differences in iconography between the glyptic art of Uruk
and Susa could be explained by the types of economic activities at both centres.
The glyptic of this period, widely diffused on the whole Iranian plateau, repro-
duces in its first developments simplified designs, usually geometric, that could
be divided into four main styles: the classic style, the glazed steatite style, the
wheel-­cut style and the incised style. At Susa, the geometric patterns frequently
use lozenges and chevrons, while Pittman’s so-­called ‘Classic Proto-­Elamite Style’,
found in levels 15–14 of the Acropole, is related to administrative tablets. In
the Classic group, the geometric representation is replaced by animals acting as
humans or flanking a stylized mountain with a possible tree at its summit. Depic-
tions of lions attacking goats and cattle continue, and fantastic creatures appear
only rarely. The style is vigorous, with each individual personage depicted in good
proportion, but the carving appears flat and is still far from the Early Dynastic
IIIb renderings.

627
 — Enrico Ascalone —

On the basis of style and iconography, the glazed steatite group can be organised in
two main categories, the ‘hatched’ and the ‘Multiple Element’ group (Pittman 1980:
129), in which the numerous designs apparently lack any relational sense. Stamp seals
attributed to this period are also known at Susa and Tall-­i Malyan, where the main
representation is geometric, very close to the contemporary cylinder seal production.

EA R LY- E
­ LAMITE P ERIOD (CA. 2 8 0 0 / 2 7 0 0 – 2 3 0 0 B C)
The sumerogram NIM, used to denote Elam, appears with certainty in Early Dynastic
II and III periods. Its presence is attested in the Sumerian King List, where Elam and
Awan are both mentioned in their territorial disputes against Enmebaragesi of Kish
and Ur. For these reasons and on the basis of the glyptic documentation in which the
seeds of an Elamite iconographic and figurative heritage appear for the first time, it
is preferable to identify an Early phase between the Proto-­Elamite period and the
dynastic history of Elam.
From the end of the first quarter of the 3rd millennium BC, during the pre-­
Sargonid era, artistic representations from Mesopotamian workshops are unknown.
Between the Proto-­Elamite expressions and the appearance of the first evidence of
iconographic and stylistic traits rooted in Elamite cultural heritage, Susian glyptic
production is very close to that of the contemporary Mesopotamian ateliers. Simul-
taneously, to the east in the Jiroft valley, a new glyptic art is well represented in the
recent excavations carried out by Y. Madjidzadeh (2008) at Konar Sandal South,
close to the Early Dynastic III phase but with peculiar artistic features that would be
adopted in the next period in the Early South-­Eastern Iranian production (see Early
South-­Eastern Iranian production).

Susa IVA
The IVA period at Susa is known in layers 4–3 of the Acropole and 12–9 of the Ville
Royale. It was also identified in the Dc/d stylistic phase of Louis Le Breton (1957) and
in the so-­called ‘XXV siècle’ by R. de Mecquenem (1934). The glyptic of Susa shows
a strong homogeneity with the corpora from Mesopotamia, further confirming the
cultural alternation of the Susiana plain throughout its history. Only a few specimens
reveal figurative details that probably originated in the highlands. In a more generic
analysis we should assume that the whole corpus of Susa IVA is unrelated to the
earlier Proto-­Elamite production and is best regarded as emerging from a different
workshop to the Mesopotamian glyptic art, as well as Fara, Kish, Ur, Lagash and the
sites of the Diyala region.

Early Dynastic production (ca. 2600–2300 BC)

The Susa IVA glyptic should be considered a different expression from the Mesopo-
tamian production dated to the Early Dynastic III period, allowing for the identifica-
tion of at least two main groups of seals: (i) an early group that shows comparisons
with Fara (Imdugud-­sukurru phase), Kish A, Diyala (ED IIIa) and royal tombs of Ur
(Meskalamdug period) seals (Figure 31.2g-­h); and (ii) a later group with relations in
the Ur I (Mesanepada) and Lagash (Lugalanda) corpora (Figure 31.2i-­j).

628
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

The early and late productions seem to be represented by a corpus of seals mainly
coming from Susa, although seals from Luristan (two from Bani Surmah and Kalleh
Nissar) were also found. Only six seals were published in well-­stratified contexts;
except for the specimen found in the level 4a of the Ville Royale I dated to the Susa
V period, all the other seals were found in Early Dynastic archaeological contexts.
The early glyptic of Susa IVA follows the ‘pyramid scheme’ known from Mesopo-
tamian productions but with a flatter and less voluminous stylistic representation
than the one observed in the Ur and Diyala workshops. During the early phase,
the principal theme in the ‘figure-­band’ is that of lions attacking antelopes/cervids,
with or without a naked human figure. In the last years of the Early Dynastic period
and in the later layers of Susa IVA, new artistic expressions are apparent in the
adoption of subjects and icons such as banquet scenes, heraldic representations,
building themes and the god-­ship. From a stylistic point of view, the new seals show
a more volumetric character, care for details and partial reduction of personages
with a centripetal reading of the scene, which overcomes the continuous frieze of
the ‘figure-­band’ type. The last specimens of this period seem to introduce a new
vision of the seal’s space that would be widely developed by the Akkadian work-
shops, confirming a historical continuity in the cultural sequences of the Susiana
plain and its main site.

Konar Sandal production (ca. 2500/2400–2300 BC)

A group of seals and sealings were found in the Jiroft valley at Konar Sandal where
a new civilization has been identified in recent years by Iranian excavations con-
ducted under the direction of Y. Madjidzadeh. Most of the sealings came from
Trench III, and they should be regarded as local productions that can contribute to
the understanding of the chronology of Konar Sandal South.1 The sealings show
iconographic traits close to the Mesopotamian repertory in which the figurative
apparatus is more chaotic, within a dynamic figurative structure. At the same time,
the square stamp sealings found in Konar Sandal South should be considered an
artistic expression of south-­eastern Iranian culture. This early group of glyptic is
close to the successive productions defined as ‘South-­East Iranian’ by the author
(Figure 31.3a-­d, see also Early South-­Eastern Iranian production and Late South-­
Eastern Iranian production).

OLD- ­E LAMITE I PERIOD (CA. 2 3 0 0 – 2 1 0 0 B C)

From an artistic point of view, a truly Elamite period begins with the appearance of
iconographic and stylistic traits associated with the Elamite dynasty of Awan. During
this time new motifs, themes and styles appear in the glyptic art of Susa, including
seals and sealings found in the Ville Royale bearing official inscriptions of Awan-
ite kings. During the Akkadian control of Susiana, the rulers of Susa, presumably
influenced by an Elamite highland heritage, were able to formulate original artistic
solutions, not yet standardized and encoded, that would be widely used during the
Simashki and especially the Sukkalmakh dynasty, when glyptic art was incorporated
into a propagandistic figurative agenda.

629
 Figuire 31.3  [a-­c] Konar Sandal sealings after Pittman 2008: Figs. 29b, 30 g
and 32a; [d] Seal from Shahdad after Ascalone 2011: n. 4A.2; [e-­f] Awanite seals
from Susa IVB after Ascalone 2011: nn. 1B.164, 150; [g-­h] Piedmont seals from
Susa IVB after Ascalone 2011: nn. 5.20, 23; [i-­j] Early South-­Eastern Iranian seals from
Shahdad after Ascalone 2011: nn. 4B.1–2; [k] Early South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Tepe
Yahya after Ascalone 2011: n. 4B.10; [l] Early South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Jalalabad
after Ascalone 2011: n. 4B.14.
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

Susa IVB and VA

The Susa IVB and VA periods are well represented in levels 8–5 of the Ville Royale, in
the B VII period of R. Ghirshman on the Ville Royale (only Susa VA), in layers 2–1 of the
Acropole (for Susa IVB) and in the De typological phases of Louis Le Breton. The main
corpus of seals follows the iconographic, thematic and stylistic features of the
Akkadian period, although in some cases with a figurative expression rooted in the
Susian-­Elamite cultural background. In addition, it is possible to recognize two other
productions that, while influenced by contemporary Akkadian glyptic, are autono-
mous in their iconographic and stylistic traits: (i) an Awanite group (ca. 2350–2150
BC) (Figure 31.3e-­f); and a (ii) Piedmont group (ca. 2400–2200 BC) (Figure 31.3g-­h).

Awanite group in the Akkadian workshops at Susa

(ca. 2350–2150 BC)
In the wide and homogeneous Akkadian production of Susa seals, we can identify
a single locally manufactured group influenced by the highland cultural heritage in
style and iconography (Figure 31.3e-­f). Although an Elamite, or somewhat similar,
production is recognizable only at the end of the 3rd millennium BC during the
Simaskhi dynasty (compare with Old-­Elamite II-III production), it is in this period
that some peculiar stylistic and iconographic aspects (known later in Elamite glyptic
art) appear for the first time. Compared to the Akkadian glyptic, the style is less volu-
metric, with reduced plasticity. The representation is more schematic, with less atten-
tion given to details; often recalling the Early Dynastic III productions. The themes,
including mythological scenes, are unknown in the Akkadian corpus and are instead
strongly rooted in the Iranian highland cultural heritage. At the same time, Susian
workshops seem to adopt new Elamite motifs such as the god-­snake (later revised
by the Old-­Elamite stone-­cutters), the worshipper or high functionary with crossed
arms before a god, the figure with ears of corn sprouting from the shoulders, the goat
with human head and the typical flat tiara of the successive Elamite production. The
seal of Epirmupi, for example, shows traits unknown to the classicism of the Akka-
dian style; in detail the long hair on the shoulders of the main figure finds its closest
relations in the contemporary production of south-­eastern Iran, known in the Konar
Sandal, Gonur, Susa and Shahdad figurative art.

Piedmont production (ca. 2400–2200 BC)

Incorrectly defined in the past as Gutian (Frankfort 1955: 33–34),2 one group of
seals should be regarded as a piedmont production for its geographical diffusion
in the areas very close to the Zagros-­Taurus mountains and in Luristan province
(Figure 31.3g-­h). These seals were found at Susa, Kamtarlan II, Kalleh Nissar, Sorkh
Dom-­i Luri and Tepe Giyan, but also at sites outside Iran, such as Ur, Tell Asmar,
Tell Brak, Kish, Tell Suleimeh and Assur. The archaeological contexts of the above
seals in the Diyala region allow for the suggestion of a timeline between 2400 and
2200 BC (slightly higher than the chronological evaluations of Amiet 1972: 192).
The style appears coarse, with a small notch that reduces expression and clarity. The
themes depicted are homogeneous, mainly concentrating on the hero in combat with

631
 — Enrico Ascalone —

a mythological double-­headed being, replacing the figures of the Akkadian tradition

such as lions and/or antelopes.

Early South-­Eastern Iranian production (ca. 2300–2200/2100 BC)

(Takab III2; Yahya IVC1-IVB)
After the earlier Konar Sandal production, a new glyptic art emerges in the Halil valley
and more generally in south-­eastern Iran,3 involving Shahdad, a gateway city lying
between the Oxus and the Jiroft civilisations. This group of seals can be divided into
an early corpus, close to the Konar Sandal South workshops4 and chlorite vessel man-
ufacture, and a later corpus dating to the end of the 3rd and the beginning of the 2nd
millennium BC (I return to this issue in Late South-­Eastern Iranian production): (i)
Early group (ca. 2300–2200/2100 BC) (Figure 31.3i-­l); (ii) Late group (ca. 2200/2100–
1900/1800 BC) (see Late South-­Eastern Iranian production and Figure 31.6a-­d).
Dated between the third and fourth quarter of the 3rd millennium BC, the seals
of this period show a balanced division of space with more order and accuracy than
the earlier Konar Sandal production (compare with Susa IVA). The figures are now
depicted with greater attention to detail, in some cases oriented towards a new real-
istic expression in which the musculature of each individual figure is well treated.
At the same time, the chaotic representation of the previous period is left behind in
favour of a symmetrical and balanced division of the space. The style seems to be
homogenous, with some comparisons with classical Akkadian glyptic art, particu-
larly in the significant use of volumetric figures; not a few specimens show the use
of the drill that would be a specific feature of south-­eastern Iranian glyptic until the
end of its production around 1900/1800 BC. The figures fill the entire scene, usually
mythological in subject, in which a god and goddess without tiaras or other identi-
fying symbols5 represent the most important personages. The winged goddess, the
goddess in her fertile and cosmic appearances and the god/goddess with snakes seem
to play an especially important role in the south-­eastern Iranian pantheon.
After the Proto-­Elamite and Konar Sandal productions, the glyptic art of central/
eastern Iran shows for the first time an indigenous development without any cultural
intrusion in the formation of its figurative and stylistic heritage. If the Proto-­Elamite
‘phenomenon’ seems to have originated in western Iran and the Konar Sandal work-
shops (Trench III) follow the contemporary artistic and figurative expressions of
the Early Dynastic III period in Mesopotamia (see Susa IVA), the Early phase of
the South-­Eastern Iranian glyptic represents the earlier production of seals strongly
rooted in the cultural reservoir of central and eastern Iran. This production is attrib-
utable to the Yahya IVC1-IVB and Takab III2 periods, contemporary with Shahr-­i
Sokhta III in the Hilmand valley, Miri Qalat IV in the Makran region, Adji Kui 1–2A
(Namazga V) in the Oxus area and, finally, Harappa 3A-B in the Indus valley.

OLD - E
­ LAMITE II-III P ERIOD (CA. 2 1 0 0 – 1 5 2 0 B C)
During the Simashki and Sukkalmakh sovereignty, a radical change is attested in
the official figurative codes of the ruling class. There is evidence of an independent
production, very close to the Elamite world, and a major effort focussed on dynas-
tic celebration. This effort is attested in the new titles of the Elamite kings, in the

632
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

appearance of dynastic inscriptions, in the correspondences between rock art and

iconographic expressions on seals and in the numerous religious buildings and con-
solidation of a divine pantheon under the hegemony of the divine couple Napirisha
and Kiririsha. It seems that the first Sukkalmakh sovereigns began a new official
program in which standardised figurative codes were used to celebrate the dynasty
and the unity of the reign (Ascalone 2011). In this period, a wide diffusion of royal
inscriptions is attested on seals after their sporadic occurrences in the Awan glyptic
art (see Epirmupi, Eshpum and later Puzur-­Inshushinak seals). Dynastic official seals
such as those of Kindattu, Tan-­Ruhurater, Idadu, Ebarat, Attahushu, Palaishshan,
Kuk-­Kirmash, Tetepmada (?), Temti-­Agun, Tan-­Uli and Kuk-­Nashur should be con-
sidered closely associated with the monumental displays of royal imagery exhibited
in the Kurangun and Naqsh-­i Rustam reliefs.

Susa VB and Kaftari period (Simashki and Sukkalmakh dynasties)

It is only quite recently that an autonomous and independent Elamite glyptic art has
been identified in the evidence coming from Tall-i Malyan and Susa, where a large
number of bituminous seals, also called ‘populaire’ (Amiet 1972: 239), were found
(Anshanite group).6 However, a full identification of an Anshanite glyptic art remains
difficult due to scanty knowledge of archaeological contexts and the limited excava-
tions carried out in the Fars region.
In this same period of Anshanite production, a new artistic expression was pro-
duced by the Elamite workshops (Old-­Elamite group), different from the contempo-
rary Anshanite glyptic but originating from the same Elamite cultural context (see
Old-­Elamite II-III production). A group of around 200 Old-­Elamite seals should be
regarded as having an Elamite cultural heritage due to their iconographic, stylistic
and thematic divergences from the Mesopotamian and Anshanite seals, their strong
iconographic relations with Elamite figurative art and finally, for the presence of a
broad Elamite onomastic.

Old-­Elamite II-III production (ca. 2100–1520 BC)

The knowledge of Old-­Elamite glyptic art at Susa enables the identification of a new
artistic production very closely related to that of contemporary Mesopotamia in themes
and style but with specific iconographic links to the Anshanite seal group. On this basis
we can support the presence of an autonomous art, influenced by its dual cultural per-
sonality, with an internal stylistic division and four main historical and cultural phases
of production: (i) Old-­Elamite II. Early Phase (ca. 2031–1920/1900 BC) (Figure 31.4a-­
b); (ii) Old-­Elamite IIIA. Transitional Phase (ca. 1920/1900–1800 BC) (Figure 31.4c-­d);
(iii) Old-­Elamite IIIB. Classic Phase (ca. 1800–1650 BC) (­Figure  31.4e-­f); (iv) Old-­
Elamite IIIC. Late Phase (ca. 1650–1520 BC) (Figure 31.4g-­h).
The development of the Old-­Elamite glyptic phases is well supported by the royal
inscriptions on the seals, although sometimes correspondences with names, such
Ebarat or Idadu, present interpretive challenges. The Early phase of Old-­Elamite II-III
production is related to the Simashki workshops (ca. 2031–1920/1900 BC), while the
three later phases belong to the Sukkalmakh period, showing a long process of devel-
opment of Elamite figurative heritage (ca. 1900–1520 BC). Only with the Sukkalmakh

633
 Figure 31.4  [a-­b] Early Old-­Elamite seals from Susa after Ascalone 2011:
nn. 2A.8, 37; [c] Transitional Old-­Elamite seal from ex Pahlavi Collection after
Ascalone 2011: n. 2B.10; [d] Transitional Old-­Elamite seal from Susa after
Ascalone 2011: n. 2B.15; [e-­f] Classic Old-­Elamite seals from Susa after Ascalone
2011: nn. 2B.28, 52; [g] Late Old-­Elamite seal from ex Mazda Collection
after Ascalone 2011: n. 2B.145; [h] Late Old-­Elamite seal from ex Pahlavi
Collection after Ascalone 2011: n. 2B.147.
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

sovereigns, coinciding with a period of maximum geographic expansion, would a new

artistic base finally be established. After a first transitional phase (ca. 1900–1800 BC),
very close to the iconographic models of the Simashki period, glyptic art seems to
become part of a propaganda program that the Sukkalmakh regency developed within
the framework of a wider political strategy (ca. 1800–1650 BC). The creation of an
artistic identity imposed new figurative and iconographic codes that would be widely
used by Sirukutuh onwards. Like Simashki dynasty glyptic, the Sukkalmakh glyptic
was influenced by contemporary Mesopotamian figurative development, although a
repetitive and systematic use of Elamite iconographies was encoded and new emphasis
was placed on more detailed representations and volumetric styles.

Old-­Elamite II: the early phase

(ca. 2031–1920/1900 BC)
This group is strongly homogenous in style, iconography and themes, with clear Neo-­
Sumerian/Old-­Babylonian influences in an indigenous cultural background. The style
is generally very close to the Mesopotamian contemporary glyptic art, although with
widespread inaccuracies, low plasticity and a wide presence of specific motifs clearly
rooted in the Elamite cultural reservoir (see in particular the slightly angular moon,
the flat tiara and the crossed arms of the standing figure). Under the Simashki dynasty,
a class of seals distinct from the Mesopotamian tradition was systematically devel-
oped for the first time, not always successfully, in order to create a new artistic identity.
The transition to the new Sukkalmakh dynasty seems to have been rather gradual, and
its sovereigns actively incorporated the Simashki heritage, making considerable effort
to devise, in a systematic way, a new propaganda code related to their Elamite origins.

Old-­Elamite IIIA: the transitional phase

(ca. 1920/1900–1800 BC)
The glyptic of the first years of Sukkalmakh period seems to be deeply influenced by
previous Simashkian art. The style is very close to the Mesopotamian workshops,
although a clear Elamite production can be identified. This production appears to be
a transition between Simashki glyptic art and the mature elaborations of the Classic
Phase. From a stylistic point of view, the seals follow a double cultural path. The
verticality of the figures, an equitable distribution of space and a static vision of
representation resulted in an overall heavy and repetitive depiction. The small size
of the personages, the uncertain proportions, the flat volume of the images and the
sharp line of the figures are all very close to the contemporary Anshanite corpus of
seals and to the earlier Simashki production; the themes are repetitive, although with
unimaginable variability when compared with the previous period.7

Old-­Elamite IIIB: the classic phase

(ca. 1800–1650 BC)
The new iconography and style that commenced in the previous period would be widely
diffused on seals of Sirukutuh’s reign. This classic or mature phase of Sukkalmakh
glyptic art is defined by an Elamite identity and follows the new political claims of the

635
 — Enrico Ascalone —

Elamite sovereigns, now oriented towards the west, also attested in the Mari texts dat-
ing to the Zimri-­Lim regency. The style of this group identifies a dynastic production
with clearly defined Elamite figurative codes and a manufacturing in which provincial
workshops or unofficial stone-­cutting ateliers are presumably to be recognised. Con-
temporary with the political vicissitudes of the Sukkalmakh dynasty in the second half
of the 17th century BC, a change in the style of the Elamite glyptic is documented by a
group of seals that should be assigned to a late phase of development.

Old-­Elamite IIIC: the late phase

(ca. 1650–1520 BC)
The Old-­Elamite glyptic art of the final years of the Sukkalmakh dynasty shows
iconographic and stylistic solutions very close to the previous phase, although with
a more accentuated stylization and new standardization of figures. The themes are
the same as the Classic phase, but the style is rougher and less attention is given to
iconographic details. Two main groups of production can be recognized: an earlier
group still tied to the previous tradition, and a later group probably dating to the
16th century BC. An exaggerated stylization is now present, and a loss of Elamite
iconographic heritage is attested in scenes in which clarity prevails over narration.
The themes are the same as the previous period, now canonized, with a recovery of
the more archaic presentation scene in front of a seated god. At the same time, new
motifs appear, as well as the row of schematic human beings on the whole surface of
seal. The subjects of Elamite glyptic art during the last years of Sukkalmakh regency
seem to follow the developments of the Kassite workshops in Mesopotamia, while
the style and iconographic traits belong to an Elamite cultural background.

Anshanite production (ca. 2100–1700 BC)

Simultaneous to the Old-­Elamite production, a new glyptic art was produced in the
Simashki and Sukkalmakh periods (Figure 31.5). Although the seals belonging to this
group were mainly found at Susa, and far fewer were from Tall-­i Malyan (Anshan),
they are generally called ‘Anshanite’ to underline their relation with the core of the
Elamite reign. This production shows new stylistic and iconographic traits that could
be recognized in a simple and repetitive epigraphic formula, in a lengthening of the
figures, a generic deleting of the iconographic details, a rough character and a strong
stylization of the motifs, which show close relations with Old-­Assyrian and Cappa-
docian glyptic art. The iconographic innovations on the standard presentation scene
can be mainly recognized in the elimination of the introductory figure, the absence
of the tiara on the receiving god/king seated on the throne, the depiction of the per-
sonages with the typical ‘Elamite hairstyle’ and the posture of the worshiper or high
official with arms outstretched as well as crossed.
The chronological limits of this production are not clear, but certain evaluations
can be made:

(1) Seventeen Anshanite seals were found at Susa by Jacques de Morgan on the
Acropole in the foundation of the Inshushinak temple (Ur III period), two in
the Donjon, three by Roland de Mecquenem in the graves of the Ville Royale

636
 Figure 31.5  [a] Early Anshanite seal from Susa after Amiet 1972: n. 1687;
[b] Early Anshanite seal from Private Collection after Ascalone 2011: n. 3A.4;
[c-­d] Classic Anshanite seals from Susa after Amiet 1972: nn. 1895, 1890;
[e] ‘Eastern’ Anshanite seals from Susa after Ascalone 2011: n. 3B.221;
[f] ‘Eastern’ Anshanite seals from Choga Mish after Ascalone 2011: n. 3B.229;
[g-­h] Late Anshanite seal from Susa after Ascalone 2011: nn. 3C.4, 21.
 — Enrico Ascalone —

contemporary to the BV Roman Ghirshman layers, dating to the last years of

the 20th and 19th century BC. A single seal was found by R. de Mecquenem in a
grave of the ‘XXIII siècle’ in archaeological association with Ur III materials;
(2) The Anshanite seals from Tall-­i Malyan were found in the Kaftari period, approx-
imately dated to 2300/2200–1800/1700 BC (Ascalone 2015);
(3) Anshanite seals were found in the Neo-­Sumerian and Isin/Larsa layers of the
Diyala region;
(4) One Cappadocian seal found at Susa and dated to the Kültepe II period (ca.
1970–1835 BC) has been found in archaeological association with many other
Anshanite seals;
(5) There are strong comparisons between Anshanite seals and the glyptic of Kültepe
II which do not extend chronologically beyond the 19th century BC;
(6) The themes on seals are very close to the Neo-­Sumerian tradition, successively
converged in the Isin and Larsa artistic expressions;
(7) The rough character of Anshanite seals finds important comparisons with several
Susian seals dated to the end of the 3rd millennium BC;
(8) Some seals dating to the Simashki dynasty have very close relations in style and
iconography with the Anshanite corpus;
(9) One seal bears an inscription of Palaishshan.

On the basis of the above comparisons and the identification of an internal sty-
listic line of development, four main groups in the Anshanite corpus of seals may
be recognized: (i) Early group (ca. 2100–2000 BC) (Figure  31.5a-­b); (ii) Classic
group (ca.  2000–1800 BC) (Figure  31.5c-­d); (iii) Late group (ca. 1800–1700 BC)
(­Figure 31.5g-­h); (iv) ‘Eastern group (ca. 2100–1800 BC) (Figure 31.5e-­f).
The so-­called ‘Eastern’ group appears particularly significant for its historical
value related to the integrative cultural dynamics of Elam during the end of 3rd, and
the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC. The chronological proposal for this group
should be slightly older on the basis of iconographic and figurative comparisons, with
silver beakers and Neo-­Sumerian repertory dated to the last years of the 3rd millen-
nium BC, and the Bactrian statuettes, the iconographies on the Shahdad standard and
South-­Eastern Iranian cylinder seals group dating to the end of 3rd/beginning of the
2nd millennium BC. The above comparisons might allow us to define generically this
group as an eastern production due to its wide diffusion in the figurative art of the
eastern Iranian plateau and Oxus civilisation.

Late South-­Eastern Iranian production (ca. 2200/

2100–1900/1800 BC) (Takab III1; Yahya IVA; Gonur Phase)
A later production of seals in south-­eastern Iran is represented in the archaeolog-
ical contexts of Gonur, Tepe Yahya and Tôd. The Gonur seals were respectively
found in a grave of Gonur North dated to the last century of the 3rd millennium
BC (ca. 2100–2000 BC) and in the so-­called ‘temples des sacrifices’, dated to the
‘Gonur phase’. The seal excavated in the Yahya IVA period was found in the area
BW TT5–7 during the 1969 campaign, in the Second Building Level of the north-
ern step trench of excavation. It is to be attributed to the same chronological
time span, contemporary with the Takab III1, Shahr-­i Sokhta IV, Shortugai III-IV

638
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

and Harappa 3C, in a period marked by the occupational shift of the Konar San-
dal South settlement. Finally, the seal from Tôd (south of Luxor) was in a hoard
found in the Mont temple foundations with an inscription of Amenemhat II (ca.
1929–1895 BC).
Iconographic and stylistic analysis support a later development of south-­eastern
Iranian glyptic art, unknown, however, in the Konar Sandal South excavations
(­Figure 31.6a-­d). This group of seals seems to lose the richness of the previous period,
with the scene now characterized by the opposition of two main personages with
a scant presence of secondary icons. The figurative schematics are rigid, sterile, in
some cases expressionless, with calibrated stereotyped figures. The new seals lack the
descriptive vivacity of the Early period (see Early South-Eastern Iranian production).
The main depiction reproduces two deities sitting cross legged, generally female,
respectively winged and with ears of corn sprouting from the shoulders. The goddess
with ears of corn8 was depicted in the Early phase of production at Shahdad, while
the winged female appears in more chaotic representations of the previous group at
Yahya (found in the so-­called ‘Persian Gulf room’ attributed to the IVB period of the
site), Shahdad, Jalalabad and in a specimen of the Rabenou collection. Both deities
seem to be depicted in the Gonur seal, where they are standing in front of a seated
and horned divinity enclosed in the solar circle.
The Late phase of South-­Eastern Iranian seals represents the last line of develop-
ment of the eastern Iranian glyptic art. A wide crisis in eastern Iran seems to have
put an end to the whole cultural complex as attested in south-­eastern Iran after the
IVA archaeological phase of the Tepe Yahya excavations, at Shahdad III1 in the
Takab plain, in the Hilmand valley (after the end of IV period of Shahr-­i Sokhta),
at Miri Qalat IV (Makran coast), at Gonur South, Shortugai IV and in the Indus
civilization.

Turanian9 production (ca. 3500–1500 BC)

This production is known in the Elamite world by two seals found in Susiana and by
a scanty presence in the western Iranian highland (Figure 31.6e). This group of seals,
mostly in bronze, was evidently a specific production of the Oxus civilization10 and
its neighbouring areas, represented by the Sistan valley and the Gorgan plain. Outside
the main context of their production, these seals were sporadically found at Susa (2),
Mari, Tepe Yahya (1 from IVB period), Konar Sandal (4), Bampur (1 from Bampur
IV), Damin (2), Shah-­i Tump (1) and Mohenjo-­daro (1), showing the penetrative
force of the Oxus civilization in foreign cultural contexts. Different evaluations have
to be made for seals coming from Shahdad, Shahr-­i Sokhta (mainly from II and III
periods), Mundigak (1 from II-2, 2 from III-4, 4 from III-5, 34 from III-6 and 1 from
IV-1 periods) and Tepe Hissar (12 from II and 11 from III periods). All of these sites
can be placed within an indigenous cultural complex but with strong influences com-
ing from the core of the Oxus civilization.

Intercultural productions
One group of seals should be considered a separate typological class manifesting a
confluence of different cultures. These ‘intercultural’ seals have heterogeneous styles,

639
 Figure 31.6  [a] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Tepe Yahya after Ascalone
2011: n. 4B.8; [b] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Gonur depe after Ascalone
2011: n. 4B.17; [c] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Susa after Ascalone 2011:
n. 4B.19; [d] Late South-­Eastern Iranian seal from Tôd after Ascalone 2011:
n. 4B.22; [e] Compartmented bronze stamp seals from Susa after Tallon 1987:
nn. 1249–1250; [f] Pseudo-­Indus cylinder seal from Susa Amiet 1972: n. 1643;
[g] Pseudo-­Indus cylinder seal from Konar Sandal South after Pittman 2013:
Figure 4.12; [h] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Bactrian-­Harappan handled stamp-­cylinder seal
from Jalalabad after Ascalone 2011: n. 6B; [i-­j] Anshanite-­Dilmunite cylinder seals
from Susa after Ascalone 2011: nn. 8.1–2; [k-­m] Elamite-­Indus rounded stamp
seals after Ascalone 2011: nn. 9.1–3; [n] Persian Gulf type seal from Tepe Yahya
after Ascalone 2011: n. 13.1.
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

iconography and, sometimes, epigraphy. We can recognize in the highlands and low-
lands of Iran the following intercultural specimens:

• Two pseudo-­Indus cylinder seals (ca. 2200–2000 BC) (Figure 31.6f-­g);

• One South-­Eastern Iranian-­Bactrian-­Harappan handled stamp-­cylinder seal (ca.
2300–2200 BC) (Figure 31.6h);
• Two Anshanite-­Dilmunite cylinder seals (ca. 2000–1800 BC) (Figure 31.6i-­j);
• Three Elamite-­Indus rounded stamp seals (ca. 2200–2000 BC) (Figure 31.6k-­m);
• One Persian Gulf type seal (ca. 2200–2000 BC) (Figure 31.6n);
• Three South-­ Eastern Iranian-­ Margiana seals or amulets (ca. 2100/2000–
1900/1800 BC) (Figure 31.7a-­c);
• Five South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana (handled) stamp seals (ca. 2200–2000/1900
BC) (Figure 31.7d-­h);
• Six Anshanite-­Dilmunite rounded stamp seals (ca. 2000–1800 BC) (Figure
31.7i-­n).

These seals are the expression of cultural interactions on the Iranian plateau and its
coastal areas during the end of the 3rd, and the beginning of the 2nd millennium BC.
In particular, it seems possible to identify the role of the Elamite/Anshanite culture
in the Persian Gulf glyptic production, generally considered a local manufacturing
influenced by Mesopotamian workshops (see, for example, the Anshanite-­Dilmunite
cylinder seals from Susa). At the same time, they allow for a more substantial analysis
of the Integrative Cultural System (ICS)11 among the Indus, Oxus, Elamite and Jiroft
civilizations between ca. 2500–1800 BC.

MI D DLE- E
­ LAMITE P ERIOD (CA. 1 5 2 0 – 1 1 0 0 B C)
The Sukkalmakh sovereigns were followed by the Middle-­Elamite dynasties, the
sequence of which forms the basis for a division of the period into three main
phases. The first phase (ca. 1500–1400 BC) is notable for the foundation of Haft
Tepe (ancient Kabnak) by Tepti-­ahar; the second phase (ca. 1400–1200 BC) was
marked by the foundation of a new urban complex at Choga Zanbil (Dur-­Untash)
by Untash-­Napirisha, while the third and last phase (ca. 1200–1100 BC) saw the
rise of Shutruk-­Nakhunte, who subdued his western neighbours. Throughout this
period Anshan and Susa provide wide evidence of occupation, as is attested in the
archaeological finds of Tall-­i Malyan and in the archaeological sequence of the Susa
VII and VIII periods.
In glyptic art, a change from the Old-­Elamite productions is attested. A new strong
stylization of figures and an enrichment of symbols and secondary elements are now
documented. The main corpora of seals come from Haft Tepe12 and Choga Zan-
bil;13 two sites that are particularly meaningful owing to their limited chronologi-
cal framework. At least five Middle-­Elamite groups can be identified (Figure 31.8):
(i) Middle-­Elamite Early group (Middle-­Elamite I); (ii) Mitannian group (Middle-­
Elamite I-II); (iii) Middle-­Elamite or Linear Style group (Middle-­Elamite II-III); (iv)
Middle-­Assyrian group (Middle-­Elamite II-III); (v) Pseudo-­Kassite group (Middle-­
Elamite I-II).

641
 Figure 31.7  [a] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana seal/amulet from Tepe
Yahya after Ascalone 2011: n. 14.1; [b] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana
seal/amulet from Susa after Amiet 1972: n. 1721; [c] South-­Eastern Iranian-­
Margiana seal/amulet from antiquary market after Ascalone 2011: n. 14.3;
[d] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana handled stamp seal from Tepe Yahya
after Ascalone 2011: n. 10.1; [e-­f] South-­Eastern Iranian-­Margiana handled
stamp seals from Shahdad after Ascalone 2011: nn. 10.2–3; [g] South-­Eastern
Iranian-­Margiana handled stamp seal from Tepe Giyan after Ascalone 2011:
n. 10.4; [h] Konar Sandal seal from Trench V after Pittman 2013: Figure 4.7;
[i-­n] Anshanite-­Dilmunite rounded stamp seals from Susa after Amiet 1972:
nn. 1720, 1722–1726.
 Figure 31.8  [a-­b] Middle-­Elamite seals from Susa after Amiet 1972:
nn. 2120–2121; [c-­e] Middle-­Elamite sealings from Haft Tepe after Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
2011: nn. 11, 32 and 126; [f-­h] Middle-­Elamite seal from Choga Zanbil after
Porada 1970: nn. 112, 148 and 51.
 — Enrico Ascalone —

The Early group appears close to the previous productions of Old-­Elamite seals, as
attested in the so-­called Winnirkegroup of Seidl (1990: 129–135), where the main fig-
urative aspects are the small size of the personages, a strong stylization of figures and
a general increase of the number of icons. This specific production should be dated
to the Early Middle-­Elamite period, probably to its first historical phase (Middle-­
Elamite I). The same seals were found at Susa, Choga Zanbil, Nuzi and Surkh Dum-­i
Luri in the Luristan province. Within the same chronological range should be dated
the seal of Tepti-­Ahar for its iconographic and stylistic relations with the earlier seals
of the Old-­Elamite IIIB period; documented in this seal is the presentation scene of
the ruler before a god, presumably Napirisha, who holds a staff with globes, a specific
motif that increased in importance from the Old-­Babylonian period towards the end
of the 17th century BC.
The so-­called Mitannian style is documented in seals where the use of a fine drill is
widely attested; the most commonly represented themes are the palmette tree flanked
by two goats, and the god/king who receives a bottle and napkin from a female figure.
The style follows a chaotic scheme in a volumetric expression, far removed from the
previous period.
The Middle-­Assyrian group is represented by several seals in which a hero with
two goats (or an archer) is generally represented. The figurative apparatus remains
lively, in a naturalistic context mostly represented by tall plants. The carving is careful
with a deep incision in the surface of the seals. Middle-­Assyrian related seals come
also from Sork Dum-­i Luri, and two were from Marlik, but few specimens were
found at Susa.
The Kassite group shows a repetitive and standardized scene in which one, two
or three standing figures of gods and worshipers are depicted, with an inscription
that can fill most of the representation. The dating of this group should be limited to
the Susa VIII period as well as a group of fine cylinders of blue glass that follow the
characteristic Kassite scene, with the same carving, iconography and style. However,
several seals, produced in the same material, should be considered a production very
close to the Elamite figurative heritage: the scenes are mainly characterized by the
presence of architectonic frames filled with fine criss-­crossing and dot circles, and the
depictions are usually enriched by volute trees and large birds or by an archer aiming
at game.
Other Middle-­Elamite seals are mainly made in faience, and unlike the catego-
ries described above, their designs were produced in a largely linear manner. The
representations are of humans rather than gods, and the rows of animals and ban-
quet scenes are often depicted in a wider thematic range. The most common motif,
however, is the personage raising a cup in front of an attendant, a theme inserted in
a representation where inscriptions and secondary iconographic elements (such as
birds or unidentified animals) are added.
After the reign of the Shutrukid dynast Hutelutush-­Inshushinak, it becomes
difficult to follow Elamite history and culture until the late eighth century BC,
when relations would be mainly with Assyria and much less with the Babylonian
area.

644
 Table. 31.1  Comparative analysis among areas, periods and classes of seal production

Date Dynasty Archaeological Phase Period Glyptic Production

(Susiana/Fars/SE Iran) Susiana/Fars South-­East Iran
4000–3500 – Susa I Susa A Susa A
– Late Bakun-­Lapui
– Yahya VI-VC
3500–3100 – Susa II Susa B Uruk
– Late Banesh
– Yahya VB-VA
3100–2700 – Susa III Proto-­Elamite Proto-­Elamite Proto-­Elamite
– Middle/Late Banesh
– Yahya IVC
– Mahtoutabad III
2700–2300 Awan – Susa IVA Early-­Elamite – ED II-III Konar Sandal South
– Shrine Phase (Citadel, KSS) – Piedmont
– Early Phase (Citadel, KSS)
– Phases 2–3 (Lower Town, KSS)
– Transition Banesh/Kaftari
– Shahdad IV1
2300–2120 Awan – Susa IVB-VA Old-­Elamite I – Akkadian Early SE Iranian
– Kaftari – Post-­Akkadian
– Yahya IVB – Piedmont
– Shahdad III2
2120–1920 Simashki – Susa VB Old-­Elamite II – Neo-­Sumerian Late SE Iranian
– Kaftari – Early Old-­Elamite
– Yahya IVA – Early Anshanite
– Shahdad III1 – Classic Anshanite
– Gonur Phase

(Continued)
 Table 31.1 (Continued)

Date Dynasty Archaeological Phase Period Glyptic Production

(Susiana/Fars/SE Iran) Susiana/Fars South-­East Iran
1920–1800 Sukkalmakh – Susa VB Old-­Elamite – Old-­Babylonian
– Kaftari IIIA – Trans. Old-­Elamite
– Yahya IVA – Classic Anshanite
1800–1650 Sukkalmakh Susa VI Old-­Elamite – Old-­Babylonian
IIIB – Classic Old-­Elamite
– Late Anshanite
1650–1520 Sukkalmakh – Susa VI/VII Old-­Elamite – Late Old-­Elamite
– Early Qaleh IIIC
1520–1400 ‘Kidinuids’ – Susa VII Middle-­Elamite – Early Middle-­Elamite
– Haft Tepe I – Mitannian group
– Early Qaleh – Pseudo-­Kassite group
1400–1200 ‘Igihalkids’ – Susa VIII Middle-­Elamite – Middle-­Assyrian group
– Early/Late Qaleh II – Pseudo-­Kassite group
– Choga Zanbil – Middle-­Elamite group
1200–1100 ‘Shutrukids’ – Susa VIII Middle-­Elamite – Middle-­Elamite group
– Late Qaleh III – Middle Assyrian group
 — Glyptic in the 4th–2nd millennium —

NOTE S
1 This period is known in the Lower Town (in phases 2–3), in the Citadel (Early and Shrine
phases) and in the Mahtoutabad cemetery (III period).
2 On the chronological proposals see also Porada 1958: 66 and Matthews 1997: 146–147.
3 Lastly, H. Pittman (2001: 236) has preferred to call this group of seals ‘South Central
Iranian Glyptic’.
4 Trench V, contrary to evidence collected in Trench III where the sealings seem to be ear-
lier and belonging to the above Konar Sandal South group, gave back numerous cretulae
found in a dump placed on the eastern flank of the fortifications between the Lower Town
and the Citadel (Madjidzadeh 2008: 94–96).
5 In the absence of a peculiar trait for divinities, we should assume that the long (but not
beyond the shoulders) and loose hair are generally specific to the goddess; on the contrary,
the hair encased in a bun seems to be related to the faithful (see comparisons with the stat-
ues found at Shahdad); same absences are attested in the Anshanite seals (see Anshanite
production).
6 This production, called ‘Anshanite’ in order to distinguish it from the contemporary Old-­
Elamite seals, is well represented at Susa where ca. 300 seals were found in the French
excavations (see Anshanite production).
7 A group of specimens (seals and sealings) for style and iconography has to be considered
a dynastic production in which the names of Ebarat, Attahushu, Kuk-­Kirmash and Kuk-­
Nashur appear in the inscriptions of seals.
8 The goddess must be the same as that depicted on the Rosen seal; she is represented on
a throne inside the sun rising from the mountains bringing with it the arrival of spring,
represented by the god with snakes protected by two unidentified mythological figures.
9 The terminology follows Tosi’s (1977: 47) historical evaluations on this area.
10 An overview of this class of production is in Baghestani 1997 and Salvatori 2000.
11 The so-­called Middle Asian Interaction Sphere (MAIS) by Possehl (2002: 215–236) has
been used in order to underline the interactive process between Indus valley and its neigh-
bours, starting from a Harappan perspective (see also Pittman 2013). It is my belief that
during the second half of 3rd millennium BC, more intensive and wider relations in an
Integrated Cultural System were between the South-­East Iranian regions and the Oxus
civilisation, in which the Indus valley played a role only in a well-­structured commercial
system. However, the evidence of an integrated system of thoughts and knowledge should
be identified between Margiana and Kerman province (Ascalone 2014).
12 The corpus from Haft Tepe has been divided into seven main groups, in which have been
identified Babylonian, Elamite-­Babylonian (or Susian-­Elamite), Kassite and Mitannian
productions (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011).
13 Following an iconographic approach, E. Porada (1970) identified ten stylistic groups in
the corpus of Choga Zanbil.

B IB LIOGRAP HY
Amiet, P. 1972. La glyptique susienne, des origines à l’époque des perses achéménides. Cachets,
sceaux-­cylindres et empreintes antiques découvertes à Suse, de 1913 à 1967. Mémoires de
la Délégation Archéologique en Iran 43. Paris.
Aruz, J., Harper, P.O. and Tallon, F. 1992. The Royal City of Susa. Ancient Near Eastern Trea-
sures in the Louvre. New York.
Ascalone, E. 2011. Glittica Elamita. Dalla metà del III alla metà del II millennio a.C. Sigilli a
stampo, sigilli a cilindro e impronte rinvenute in Iran e provenienti da collezioni private e
museali. Rome.

647
 — Enrico Ascalone —

———. 2014. Intercultural Relations Between Southern Iran and Oxus Civilization. The
Strange Case of Bifacial Seal NMI 1660. Iranian Journal of Archaeological Studies 4: 1–10.
———. 2015. Bastanshenasi Iran Bastan. Gahnegari-­e Hezareeh-­e sevvom pish az milad, Stud-
ies and Publications Institute, University for Humanities Sciences (SAMT), Research Center
and Development. Tehran.
Baghestani, S. 1997. Metallene compartimentsiegel aus Ost-­ Iran, Zentralasien und Nord-­
China. Archäologie in Iran und Turan. Leidorf.
Frankfort, H. 1955. Stratified Cylinder Seals from the Diyala Region. Oriental Institute Publi-
cations 72. Chicago.
Le Breton, L. 1957. The Early Periods at Susa, Mesopotamia Relations. Iraq 19: 79–124.
Madjidzadeh, Y. 2008. Excavations at Konar Sandal in the Region of Jiroft in the Halil Basin:
First Preliminary Report (2002–2008). Iran 46: 69–104.
Matthews, D. 1997. The Early Glyptic of Tell Brak. Cylinder Seals of Third Millennium Syria.
Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 15. Fribourg.
Mecquenem de, R. 1934. Fouilles de Suse 1929 à 1933 (sur l’acropole et la ville royale).
Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse 25: 177–237.
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi, Behzad 2011. Die Glytpik aus Haft Tepe. Interkulturen Aspeckte zur Her-
stellung Benutzung von Siegeln in der Anfangsphase der Mittelelamischen zeit. Elamica 1.
Mainz.
Pittman, H. 1980. Proto-­Elamite Glyptic Art from Operation ABC In: Sumner, W.M. (ed.)
Problems of Large Scale, Multidisciplinary Regional Archaeological Research: The Malyan
Project. Xerox.
———. 2001. Glyptic Art of Period IV. In: Potts, D.T. (ed.) Excavations at Tepe Yahya, Iran,
1967–1975: Periods IVC and IVB (3000–2000 BC). Cambridge, 231–268.
———. 2008. Glyptic Art. Iran: 95–100.
———. 2013. New Evidence for Interaction between the Iranian Plateau and the Indus Valley:
Seals and Sealings from Konar Sandal South. In: S. Abraham (ed.) Connections and Com-
plexity: New Approaches to the Archaeology of South Asia. Walnut Creek, 63–89.
Porada, E. 1958. Review of Frankfort 1955. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 17: 62–67.
———. 1970. Tchoga Zanbil. La glyptique. Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique en Iran
42. Paris.
Possehl, G.L. 2002. The Indus Civilization. A Contemporary Perspective. Walnut Creek, CA:
AltaMira Press.
Salvatori, S. 2000. Bacria and Margiana Seals, A New Assessment of Their Chronological Posi-
tion and a Typological Survey. East and West 50: 97–146.
Scheil, V. 1900. Textes Élamites Sémitiques. Mémoires de la délégation en Perse 2. Paris.
Seidl, U. 1990. Altelamische Siegel. In F. Vallat (ed.) Contribution a l’histoire de l’Iran: mélanges
offerts a Jean Perrot (= Edition Recherche sur les Civilisations), Paris, 129–135.
Tallon, F. 1987. Métallurgie susienne I-II: de la fondation de Suse au XVIII siècle avant J.-C.
Musée du Louvre Département des antiquités orientales. Paris.
Tosi, M.1977. The Archaeological Evidence for Protostate Structure in Eastern Iran and Cen-
tral Asia at the End of the Third Millennium B.C. In: Deshayes, J. (ed.) Le plateau iranien
et l’Asie centrale des origins à la conquête islamique. Leurs relations à la lumière des docu-
ments archéologique, Paris 22/24 Mars 1976. Paris, 45–66.

648
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

GLYPTIC IN THE 1ST MILLENNIUM

Mark B. Garrison

INTRODU CTIO N
The collapse of the Middle Elamite state appears to mark a major hiatus in glyptic
production and use in Elam. Whether this hiatus represents an actual historical phe-
nomenon or simply a lack of excavated evidence is difficult to determine.1 For the
Neo-­Elamite period, we do not have any substantial deposits of actual seals or seals
preserved as impressions on administrative tablets. This situation is very different
from the preceding Middle Elamite period, for which we have rich glyptic corpora
excavated from Chogha Zanbil (Porada 1970; Amiet 2000), Haft Tepe (Negahban
1991; Amiet 1996, 1999), and Susa (Amiet 1972).2
Neo-­Elamite glyptic is traditionally delineated into two chronological groups, an
early one, ca. 1000–800/700 BC, and a late one (“late Neo-­Elamite glyptic”), ca.
800/700–late 6th century BC (Amiet 1972: 273–283; Porada 1993: 496–500; Garri-
son 2006). It is impossible to determine internal stylistic developments within each of
these two chronological groups owing to the lack of excavated evidence and/or the
lack of carefully excavated evidence. In both cases, we are dealing with very small
numbers of actual images. The early group is rarely considered. Late Neo-­Elamite
glyptic has, however, been the focus of some discussion owing to its potential impli-
cations for a revived Elamite polity at Susa and its linkages with a massive corpus of
seals preserved as impressions on the administrative documents from the Persepolis
Fortification archive (dating to the early and middle years of the reign of Darius I).3

EARLY NEO-­E LAM ITE G LYP TIC

For early Neo-­Elamite glyptic, our best evidence comes from Susa (Amiet 1972:
nos. 2121–2159). The corpus consists exclusively of actual cylinder seals (rather
than impressions on clay documents).4 The preferred materials are faience and
bitumen, both of which are used for seals in the Middle Elamite period (van Loon
1989: 417).5 Amiet (1972: 274) characterized the assemblage as “souvent assez
grossièrement exécutés.” The exact archaeological context of these seals from Susa
is either unknown or not meaningful. As Amiet (1972: 273, 1973: 3) and Porada

649
 — Mark B. Garrison —

(1993: 496) noted, a coherent internal classification and chronological sequencing

of these seals is not possible, although some stylistic clusters are certainly recog-
nizable. There is disagreement as to whether some of these seals may in fact date
to the late Middle Elamite period rather than the early Neo-­Elamite period (e.g.,
Harper, Aruz, and Tallon 1992: 157–158, discussing Amiet 1972: no. 2124). Amiet
(1972: 273), followed by others, suggested that nos. 2121–2125, which are exe-
cuted in a delicate elongated style and feature heraldic animals disposed around
the so-­called sacred tree, could be direct descendants of late Middle Elamite glyptic
(“late-­Kassite style” [Harper et  al. 1992: 157–158]). Porada (1993: 496) identi-
fied Amiet (1972) nos. 2131–2145, all cylinders of faience, as continuing (but in
a less accomplished carving) various linear styles of carving found in some of the
seals from Chogha Zanbil. Amiet (1972) no. 2130 could also belong with this
stylistic group.6 There is a variety of themes including archers, animal combats,
and abstract designs. Muscarella (1981: 357) and van Loon (1989: 431) related
two seals from Susa (Amiet 1972: nos. 2126 and 2127), characterized by, among
other features, a deeply gouged, schematic style of carving and sickle-­shaped wings
that carry hatching, with a seal from Surkh Dum-­i Luri (van Loon 1989: no. 109).
All three seals are made from bitumen. The style seems more at home in Luristan
than Elam.

Surkh Dum-­i Luri

Van Loon (1989: 416) considered Surkh Dum-­i Luri (in southeastern Luristan) as
potentially lying within an Elamite cultural orbit. Excavations from the site, princi-
pally from the sanctuary, yielded some 168 cylinder seals, 32 stamp seals, and one
fragmentary impression of a cylinder seal (van Loon 1989: 413–474, nos. 41–223
and xiii – xliv). Van Loon (1989: 446–448) dated this material broadly to the Iron
Age, ca. 12th–6th centuries BC. To consider this glyptic corpus as representative of
Elamite glyptic, however, would be mistaken. While, as we have seen, there are some
connections to the early Neo-­Elamite material from Susa, the predominant (recogniz-
able) stylistic idioms are Assyrian and what one could characterize as a local Luristan
style.

LATE NEO- E
­ LAMITE G LYP TIC
Late Neo-­Elamite glyptic became a topic of some importance with a seminal pub-
lication by Amiet in 1973. The designation late Neo-­Elamite glyptic is potentially
somewhat confusing. Within glyptic studies, late Neo-­Elamite signifies a corpus of
seals that are stylistically and chronologically distinct from the corpus of early Neo-­
Elamite seals discussed above. Late Neo-­Elamite glyptic is dated to the period ca.
800/700–late 6th century BC (the end date perhaps specifically being 539 BC, with
Cyrus’ conquest of Babylon). While late Neo-­Elamite glyptic denotes a distinct arti-
factual phenomenon having specific chronological boundaries, the term ought not
to be conflated with the various historical/archaeological phases that have been con-
strued for the Neo-­Elamite period.7
There has emerged a general consensus that sometime in the second half of the
7th century BC, after the sack of Susa in 647 BC by the forces of Aššurbanipal, there

650
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

arose in Susa some type of revived political state; its extent and political influence
are debated.8 This perspective is radically different from a more traditional one that
saw the Assyrian destruction of Susa as complete and long-­lasting. Late Neo-­Elamite
glyptic emerges within this new perspective as a critical resource potentially docu-
menting this political revival.
The chronological period covered by late Neo-­Elamite glyptic occurs at an excep-
tionally critical moment in what specialists have come to call, after de Miroschedji
(1985: 295), the “ethnogénèse des Perses.” Henkelman (e.g., 2003, 2008: 4–49, 2011)
has expanded this line of inquiry and made significant contributions towards our
understanding of what he calls “Elamite-­Iranian acculturation.”9 Indeed, Elam has
now so emerged as the central focal zone for the discourse surrounding the early
Persians that Liverani (2003: 10) has famously (and definitively) remarked, “Persia is
the heir of Elam, not of Media.” The role of Elam has thus become central to issues
surrounding the formation of the Persian peoples and state. Late Neo-­Elamite glyp-
tic, accordingly, also emerges as a critical resource in documenting this sociopolitical
phenomenon.

Late Neo-­Elamite Glyptic from Susa

Amiet (1973) first defined the corpus of late Neo-­Elamite glyptic (“la glyptique de
la fin d’Élam”). Very little new evidence bearing on the question of late Neo-­Elamite
glyptic has emerged from excavations at Susa since 1973 (e.g., de Miroschedji 1982;
van Loon 1988; Amiet 1992: 92, 1994). At the heart of Amiet’s corpus were 16 seals
preserved as impressions on administrative documents known today as the Acropole
tablets and seven seals impressed on legal contracts known today as the Apadana
(or Palace of Darius) tablets.10 The archaeological disposition of the two corpora of
tablets at Susa was not well documented (Garrison 2006: 93 note 6). The relative
chronological relationship of the two corpora to each other, and their absolute dates,
are often debated. Although Amiet suggested, based on the glyptic evidence, that the
Apadana tablets were slightly later in date than the Acropole tablets, I see no compel-
ling evidence to separate the two corpora in any chronologically meaningful manner
(Garrison 2006: 72–73). Amiet (1973: 25) dated the Acropole tablets to the late 7th
and early 6th centuries BC based upon his stylistic and iconographic analysis of the
seals. More recent commentators, relying on both stylistic analyses of the seals and
paleographic analyses of the texts, have preferred a later date for both sets of tablets,
sometime in the 6th century BC, the debate now being whether early or late in the 6th
century BC.11 Henkelman (2008: 5–6) notes that the Acropole texts most likely cover
a very short period of time, certainly less than one generation, since the texts carry
no year dates and only one individual, Kuddakaka, “appears as the one responsible
for the royal stores.”
To flesh out the corpus of late Neo-­Elamite glyptic, Amiet (1973) added to the
seals preserved as impressions on the tablets from Susa 15 actual seals excavated at
Susa, one seal from Ur, and 23 unprovenanced seals.12 Most of these seals carry Neo-­
Elamite cuneiform inscriptions, apparently the chief criterion for Amiet’s inclusion of
them in his late Neo-­Elamite corpus. The excavated seals from Susa and Ur had no
chronologically meaningful archaeological contexts (and hence do not provide any
clues as to the exact dating of the Acropole or Apadana tablets).13

651
 — Mark B. Garrison —

From this data, Amiet reconstructed three phases in the development of late Neo-­
Elamite glyptic:

(1) the seals preserved on the Acropole tablets (and related glyptic material);
(2) the seals on the Apadana tablets (and related glyptic material);
(3) the seals in the Fortification archive from Persepolis (dated 509–493 BC in the
reign of the Achaemenid king Darius I).14

Thus, already in 1973 Amiet had considered the glyptic from Susa as directly linked
in meaningful ways with the seals from Persepolis; indeed, the seals preserved in
the Fortification archive he saw as yet a third stage in the development of late Neo-­
Elamite glyptic. Amiet (1992: 91–92) later suggested that what he had originally
termed “la glyptique de la fin d’Élam” ought perhaps to be better qualified as “élamo-­
perse.” This change was in fact anticipated in his initial publication of this corpus,
where he stated (Amiet 1973: 26):

Née après l’effondrement de la puissance élamite, cette glyptique (MBG: la glyp-

tique de la fin d’Élam) ne devrait-­elle pas être attribuée plutôt aux Perses établis
dans les deux grandes provinces du vieil Élam: le pays d’Anshan et la Susiane?
Elle est en fait le témoin de la fusion de deux populations, de sorte qu’on peut
aussi bien la considérer comme l’ultime manifestation de la civilisation élamite
que comme la première manifestation de l’art perse.

In two articles I have addressed various issues connected with late Neo-­Elamite glyp-
tic (Garrison 2006 and 2011). Even more vividly than Amiet may have envisioned,
many seals preserved in the Fortification archive at Persepolis relate thematically,
compositionally, and stylistically to many (but not all) of the seals preserved on the
Acropole and Apadana tablets. The close connections of the glyptic evidence from
Susa with that from Persepolis raise several important questions concerning the dat-
ing of the Susa evidence, the progenitors of the various glyptic styles documented at
the two sites, and the mechanisms of contact between the various stylistic centers (in
Assyria and the lowlands and highlands of Elam).
Regarding the seals from Susa (and late Neo-­Elamite glyptic as a whole), I have
addressed briefly the use of Elamite inscriptions, glyptic style and themes, and seal
size and shape (cylinders) in a previous study (Garrison 2006). Since that article,
I have had the opportunity to examine both the Acropole and the Apadana tablets
and to make collated drawings of the 23 seals used on them.15 Considerable headway
has also been made in recent years in studying the unpublished glyptic from the Perse-
polis Fortification archive. A full commentary on the glyptic from Susa will have to
await another venue. I shall address briefly in this chapter carving styles and inscribed
seals at Susa and then offer a few comments on each of the seals preserved on the
Acropole and the Apadana tablets.
Amiet’s principal interest in discussing the seals from the Acropole tablets and the
Apadana tablets was tracking linkages to previous Assyro-­Babylonian glyptic. My
comments will look east towards Persepolis, focusing on the connections with the
glyptic from the Persepolis Fortification archive and, to a lesser extent, the glyptic
from the Persepolis Treasury archive (dated 492–457 BC).16

652
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

LAT E NEO- E
­ LAMITE CARV ING S TYL E S AT S U S A
It is important to remember that we are dealing with a small number of seals, 16 on
the Acropole tablets, seven on the Apadana. Thus, we probably are not in a position
to make broad statements about the stylistic qualities of late Neo-­Elamite glyptic as
a whole, or, indeed, even late Neo-­Elamite glyptic at Susa. Be that as it may, there
is a remarkable stylistic consistency among the seals preserved on the Acropole tab-
lets and Apadana tablets. Almost all of the seals are small and executed in a mod-
eled carving that is deeply carved in select passages of human and animal anatomy
and has a vigorous and tightly controlled outline. Some distinctive characteristics of
this carving style are puffy, heart-­shaped shoulders and pinched waists on human
figures and segmentation of the chests on the animals and winged creatures. The
basic modeled approach to the rendering of human and animal forms is, as Amiet
noted, a direct inheritance from Assyro-­Babylonian glyptic. A similar carving style is
extremely popular at Persepolis.17 For ease of reference, I shall call it hereafter the
miniaturist modeled style of carving.
Given the small numbers of seals preserved on the tablets from Susa and what
I see to be an overall stylistic unity in this material, I see no way to distinguish any
meaningful stylistic development (reflecting a movement through time) between the
two corpora (Garrison 2006: 72–79).

LATE NEO- E
­ LAMITE INSCRIB E D S E AL S AT S U S A
Of the 12 inscribed seals from Susa, 11 are in Elamite.18 Almost all of the inscriptions
are fragmentary. My collations for the most part confirm the readings that Amiet
(1973: 27–28) provided. I have been able in a few cases to see a few more broken
signs, but only in one case, Amiet no. 16, may I offer a reading that is radically differ-
ent from that found in Amiet (1973).19
Elamite is by far and away the preferred language for seal inscriptions at Perse-
polis.20 We have now documented some 84 seals from the Fortification archive that
carry monolingual Elamite inscriptions (cf. Garrison 2006: 70–72). PN1 DUMU
PN2(-na) is the most common formula used in Elamite inscriptions from Persepolis.
The percentage of inscribed seals (in any language) used in the Fortification archive
is very low, currently only about 5%. At Persepolis, inscribed seals almost always,
when we can collate a seal with an official/office, are associated with officials/offices
of high administrative rank.
Given the data from the Fortification archive, it is perhaps quite surprising that there
is such a high percentage of inscribed seals in the two Susa corpora; nine seals (out of
16) in the Acropole corpus and three (out of seven) in the Apadana corpus.21 This phe-
nomenon is really quite striking, and one does not know exactly what to make of it.
There are, however, at Persepolis a few types of transactions that are sealed with
a very high percentage of inscribed seals, similar in fact to the high percentage of
inscribed seals at Susa. These transactions, perhaps to no surprise, concern individu-
als of high administrative rank. For example, letters and letter-­orders from the For-
tification archive (Hallock’s text category T) and the Treasury archive are issued by
individuals of high administrative authority (and in some cases exceptional social
status); the issuers of letters in the Fortification archive include, for example, Parnaka

653
 — Mark B. Garrison —

(PFS 9* and PFS 16*) and Ziššawiš (PFS 83* and PFS 11*), the director and deputy-­
director of the agency, the royal women Irdabama (PFS 51) and Irtašduna (PFS 38),
and Iršama (PFS 2899*), the son of Darius and Irtašduna. We can currently identify
some 35 different seals on the letters and letter-­orders from the Fortification archive.
Eighteen of these seals are inscribed, 17 uninscribed. Thus, some 51% of the seals used
on the letters and letter-­orders from the Fortification archive are inscribed. Inscribed
seals are even more pronounced in the letter-­orders from the Treasury archive. Of the
11 seals that occur, nine are inscribed.22
This linkage of inscribed seals with officials/offices of high administrative rank is,
of course, common in almost all periods in ancient western Asia; the close proximity
in time, space, and administrative protocols between the archives from Susa and
Persepolis suggests that the association of inscribed seals with individuals of high
administrative rank in the one (Persepolis) is likely to apply to the other (Susa) as
well. One should thus probably infer that both glyptic corpora from Susa involve
officials/offices of high administrative rank.

THE GLYPTIC CORPU S F RO M S U S A:

A SHORT COM M E NTARY
Amiet no. 1 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 16; Amiet 1973: 7)
A heroic encounter of the control type. Amiet thought that the hero is nude, but
this is not the case; one can clearly see the front hem of the Assyrian garment as it
runs between the legs. The heroic encounter is one of the most popular thematic
types at Persepolis; the winged human-­headed leonine creatures are also a favorite
of the heroic encounters at Persepolis. As Amiet remarked, the style of Amiet no. 1
is a deeply carved modeled style with little surface manipulation; human and animal
figures are large. At Persepolis, there are various iterations of what we may charac-
terize as a Persepolitan Modeled Style. One of these styles employs large figures with
heavily modeled forms and little surface detailing; this version of the Persepolitan
Modeled Style is especially common in heroic encounters.23 I  would also note the
stylistic peculiarity of heavily segmented forms; for example, the arms of the hero
and the passage at the chest of the rampant winged human-­headed creatures. This
segmentation of form is often seen in various modeled styles at Persepolis.

Amiet no. 2 (Amiet 1973: 7)

A heroic encounter of the control type. The heads of the winged creatures are not
preserved; they are probably bird-­headed, as Amiet hinted, and the one at left appears
to have a bird’s tail. The hero appears to wear a long skirt belted at the waist, but the
lower part of the body is not preserved (cf. Amiet, “vétu d’un pagne”). The hero has
four wings, one set emerging upward from the shoulders, the other downward. The
theme and iconographic details are abundantly documented at Persepolis. The style
is the miniaturist modeled style (see above): small figures executed in a vigorous and
tightly controlled modeled carving. Note especially the puffy, heart-­shaped shoulders
and pinched waist of the hero and the segmentation of the chests of the winged crea-
tures. As noted, this style is extremely popular at Persepolis.

654
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

Amiet no. 3 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48,

no. 11; Amiet 1973: 7–8)
A heroic encounter of the combat type; in the terminal field there are heraldic winged
human-­faced taurine creatures. The hero is frontal-­faced and raises his forward leg to
place it on one of the legs of the ostrich. This is a remarkable design. The frontal hero
with three locks of hair is a striking archaism. Amiet (1973: 7–8) stressed the Baby-
lonian heritage of both the frontal-­faced hero and the carving style. The frontal-­faced
hero appears sporadically in the glyptic and monumental arts of both Assyria and
Babylonia. To date, the frontal-­faced hero has been attested only twice in Persepolitan
glyptic, PFS 152 (Cat.No. 295) and PFS 538 (Cat.No. 312). Like Amiet no. 3, both
PFS 152 and PFS 538 are virtuosic reimaginings of the age-­old theme, although in
both cases the scenes are augmented with other human figures. The pose of the hero
on Amiet no. 3 is as interesting as his frontal face. He lifts his forward leg to place it
on one of the legs of the ostrich; one hand is extended to hold the ostrich by the neck,
the other held down behind his body to grasp an elaborate double-­bladed scimitar.
This pose and the weapon are common in Persepolitan glyptic; indeed, the uplifted
leg is employed in the similarly archaizing PFS 538 (Cat.No. 312). At Persepolis, the
hero with uplifted leg generally chases the animal/creature rather than confronts it
(as Amiet no. 3), but the confronting pose is documented as well.24 The ostrich that
the hero holds is another archaism, this time evoking Assyrian glyptic. Two seals
from Persepolis present very similar heroic encounters with ostriches: PFS 9* (Cat.
No. 288) and PFS 263 (Cat.No. 289).25 In both cases, the hero grasps the neck of
the ostrich and holds a scimitar down behind his body; the hero on PFS 263 lifts his
forward leg to place it on the leg of the ostrich. PFS 9*, it should be noted, is the
first seal of the director of the agency, Parnaka. Amiet (1973: 7) stated that the hero
on Amiet no. 3 is nude, but he clearly wears a knee-­length skirt with a sash, belt, or
tassel hanging between his legs. The garment, with elaborate detailing, is commonly
documented in Persepolitan glyptic.26
Amiet (1973: 7) identified the winged creatures as caprid, but they seem rather to
be taurine, if we may judge from the thicknesses of the bodies, the length of the tails,
and the tufts at the ends of the tails. Human-­headed or human-­faced taurine creatures
are documented in Persepolitan glyptic; they often are specifically linked with what
I have called court-­centric iconography.27
At Persepolis, the heroic encounters where the hero places one leg on the hind leg
of the animal/creature are generally executed in the miniaturist modeled style of carv-
ing; the scenes are noteworthy for their dynamism and wealth of iconographic detail.
Amiet no. 3 exhibits a similar modeled style of carving. The seals from Persepolis, like
Amiet no. 3, are archaizing rather than archaic.

Amiet no. 4 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 17; Amiet 1973: 8)
A winged genius is disposed to either side of a stylized tree; a bird in flight is in the
terminal field. The composition of genii or bull-­men disposed around a stylized tree is
well documented in the glyptic from the Fortification archive (see also the comments
below concerning Amiet no. 5); generally, at Persepolis, the scene involves bull-­men
holding aloft a winged symbol over the stylized tree.28 A bird in flight in the terminal

655
 — Mark B. Garrison —

field is also common at Persepolis. Amiet (1973: 8) remarked that the manner in
which the branches and leaves/cones of the stylized tree are rendered evokes Middle
Assyrian glyptic; again, there are numerous examples of similar renderings on seals
from Persepolis. The carving is very delicate and there is an abundance of detailing
in the garments. The seal is executed in the miniaturist modeled style; note again the
distinctive segmentation in the area of the chest and shoulder of the genius to left of
the stylized tree as well as the profile shoulders on both genii. These stylistic features
are very common in the miniaturist modeled style at Persepolis.29

Amiet no. 5 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, nos. 14

and 19; Amiet 1973: 8)
A winged genius is disposed to either side of a stylized tree; in the terminal field
there is a seated(?) figure above an animal (dog?). This is another handsomely carved
design; the stylized tree has an especially calligraphic quality. The stylized tree is
much more elaborate than in Amiet’s drawing. It appears as if there are two registers
in the terminal field; such a feature is undocumented in Persepolitan glyptic. The seal
is closely related stylistically (miniaturist modeled style of carving) to Amiet nos. 5
and 6, but especially the latter. Note particularly the distinctive heart-­shaped torsos
and pinched waists of the genii; both stylistic features are abundantly documented
in Persepolitan glyptic. PFS 2089* and PFS 2311, which show winged genii to either
side of a stylized tree, are very close compositionally, iconographically, and stylisti-
cally to Amiet no. 5. All three seals are heavily Assyrianizing.

Amiet no. 6 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 18; Amiet 1973: 8–9)
A winged genius is disposed to either side of a stylized tree; a small worshiper faces
away from the genii in the lower right field. A Babylonian inscription runs across the
top of the design in a panel; the inscription continues in five more lines in a panel
with case lines in the terminal field (a prayer to Marduk and Nabû).30 Amiet no. 6
is the most commonly occurring seal on the Acropole tablets.31 The inscription is
quite monumental and, like the carving, baroque; as Amiet (1973: 8–9) remarked,
the disposition of the inscription seems more at home in Middle Assyrian and Kassite
styles. Following Amiet (1973: 9), I find the rendering of the top of the stylized tree
as a sun-­disk quite unusual.32 The small worshipping figure is also an oddity. While
cut broadly in the same style as Amiet nos. 4 and 5, the carving in Amiet no. 6 is very
detailed and hard; there is an abundance of very small cut and drill work. The faces
of the genii are abstractly rendered by a series of cuts and drills; the treatment is very
common in Persepolitan glyptic. The carving overall is heavy and elaborate, perhaps
a result of its aggressively archaizing quality.33

Amiet no. 7 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 15; Amiet 1973: 9)
A heroic encounter of the control type; the creatures, rampant atlantid bull-­men,
are quite unusual in this scene type. Amiet (1973: 9) thought that all three figures in
fact were atlantids, citing a similar composition in monumental relief at Tell Halaf.
He noted glyptic and monumental art from other regions where figures stand in an

656
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

atlantid pose but do not actually support anything (as in his no. 7). There are a few
examples that are similar at Persepolis.34 The carving is again the miniaturist modeled
style but with exceptionally nervous musculature and outline on the hindquarters of
the two bull-­men. Such nervous musculature is sometimes seen in Persepolitan glyp-
tic, most famously in PFS 16*, the second seal belonging to Parnaka, the director of
the agency represented by the Fortification archive. There is much detailed carving in
human faces.

Amiet no. 8 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 5; Amiet 1973: 10)
A winged figure in a running pose; there are a bird (at right) and a paneled Elamite
inscription in the terminal field.35 Amiet identified the pose as that of an atlantid
figure, but this suggestion is difficult to reconcile with the fact that the figure clearly
holds thin rope-­like elements from which depend globular objects. The identification
of these globular objects is challenging.36 Amiet nos. 9 and 10 appear to show the
same figural imagery as Amiet no. 8. While there are scenes of single human figures,
or winged human figures, in Persepolitan glyptic, there is nothing that is exactly
comparable to Amiet no. 8. It is interesting to note that all three seals that show this
particular (and unusual) imagery from Susa are inscribed; we may have to do with a
design that is unique to Susa and, perhaps, a particular workshop. The running pose
is very common in heroic encounters in Assyro-­Babylonian and Persepolitan glyptic.
At Persepolis, when the hero is in a running pose, he often wears an elaborate Assyr-
ianizing garment (as the running figure in Amiet no. 8 wears).37 The carving is very
good, indeed, quite extravagant; another nice example of the miniaturist modeled
style. The emphatic segmentation of the human body is a hallmark of this miniaturist
carving style at Persepolis. As with Amiet nos. 6 and 7, there is much abstract geomet-
ric detailing in the human face.

Amiet no. 9 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 4; Amiet 1973: 10)
A winged figure in a running pose; there is a paneled Elamite inscription in the termi-
nal field.38 The design, iconography, and carving style are for all intents and purposes
exactly the same as Amiet nos. 8 and 10. Were it not for the inscriptions, one would
be hard-­pressed to identify Amiet nos. 8 and 9 as two separate seals.

Amiet no. 10 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 6; Amiet 1973: 10)
A winged figure in a running pose; there is an Elamite inscription in the terminal
field.39 The inscription is not contained within a panel; three case lines are preserved.
The imagery is not well preserved, but clearly the design and iconography are exactly
the same as Amiet nos. 8 and 9. The carving is less robust than on Amiet nos. 8 and
9, and the inscription is less well executed.

Amiet no. 11 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 2; Amiet 1973: 10)
Apparently two heraldic rampant lions; there is a large paneled inscription in the ter-
minal field.40 The theme is very well represented in Persepolitan glyptic. The execution

657
 — Mark B. Garrison —

is quite accomplished; the carving is the miniaturist modeled style. The tails of the
rampant lions encroach on the paneled inscription. This feature, that is, the intrusion
of figural elements into the field of the inscription, is not uncommon among inscribed
seals in Persepolitan glyptic.

Amiet no. 12 (Amiet 1973: 10–11)

Two heraldic rampant animals; there is a large paneled inscription in the terminal
field.41 Amiet (1973: 10–11) identified the animals as horses, but heraldic horses
would be very unusual. The lower bodies appear taurine or leonine; the necks are
elongated, suggesting perhaps some type of composite creature. In Persepolitan glyp-
tic, there are almost 200 examples of heraldic animals or creatures; lions and caprids,
often times winged and/or with human heads, are the most common. As noted in
Garrison (2006), the pairing of heraldic animals/creatures, or animals/creatures with
intertwined necks, with inscriptions is common at Persepolis. The carving is again a
very accomplished miniaturist modeled style; the outline is very active and the lower
bodies of the animals exhibit a nervous musculature. As with Amiet nos. 1, 2, 4, 8, 9,
and 10, there is an emphatic segmentation of form (note especially here the passages
at the chests of the animals); this is a common feature of the miniaturist modeled style
at Persepolis.

Amiet no. 13 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 1; Amiet 1973: 11)
A winged human-­headed lion (or bull?) and a paneled inscription.42 The theme, ani-
mal/creature and an inscription, is very popular in Persepolitan glyptic (Garrison
2006). Indeed, PFS 73* could almost pass as the same seal as Amiet no. 13. As in
similar designs at Persepolis, the carving of Amiet no. 13 is a miniaturist modeled
style; note again the emphatic segmentation of form.

Amiet no. 14 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 13; Amiet 1973: 11)
A hunt from a chariot. The scene is quite interesting. There are two armed figures in
the cart, one using a spear, the other an arrow, while a third figure drives the chariot
team. Amiet (1973: 11) stressed the links to scenes of warfare in Assyrian seals and
monumental relief. He noted that the animated quality of the figures was quite unlike
what one sees in Assyrian glyptic and suggested that Assyrian monumental relief was
perhaps more comparable. Chariot scenes are very popular in Persepolitan glyptic,
numbering almost 80. Interestingly, the Persepolitan examples show only hunts (no
warfare), and the individuals in the cart use either a spear or dagger or grapple hand-
to-hand with the animal (bows, with one possible exception, are never employed). The
animated quality of the figures in the cart is one of the hallmarks of the scene type at
Persepolis. Very often in Persepolitan glyptic, the figure in the back of the cart leans out
to spear an animal or creature, as Amiet no. 14. At Persepolis there is, however, only
one possible example of three figures in the cart (rather than two or one) and one other
possible example where the bow and arrow are involved (rather than spear, sword, or
dagger).43 The exaggerated manner in which the driver leans forward and the use of

658
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

a bow will, of course, immediately call to mind the famous London Darius cylinder.44
The square box-­like cart is often documented in Persepolitan glyptic.45 While archers
in chariots are for all intents and purposes non-existent at Persepolis, standing or
running archers are enormously popular. The rendering of the bow and both arms
of the archer, the manner in which the bow-­string is pulled and held, and the manner
in which the hand holds the bow on Amiet no. 14 are all abundantly documented in
archer scenes in Persepolitan glyptic.46 While Amiet was correct in noting the existence
of chariot scenes in Assyrian glyptic, those seals are almost all cut in a distinctive style,
the Linear Style, that is very different from the carving style seen in Amiet no. 14.47
On Amiet no 14 we see a rather restrained version of the miniaturist modeled style
of carving; note especially the puffy, heart-­shaped torso of the archer. Thus, while
Assyrian glyptic and monumental art certainly provide examples of chariot scenes,
in composition and style Amiet no. 14 is intimately linked with Persepolitan glyptic.

Amiet no. 15 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 10; Amiet 1973: 11)
A hunt from a chariot; an Elamite inscription is disposed in the field between the back
of the chariot and the rampant animal.48 The rampant animal at the left of the pre-
served design is most likely a lion. There are only two figures in the cart of the char-
iot; the figure in the back of the cart appears clearly to be shooting a bow (although
the bow is not preserved). This chariot scene, like the previous, is an interesting one,
although somewhat of a hybrid. Amiet (1973: 11) highlighted the harnessing that
runs between the cart and the draft animal, linking it to early Neo-­Assyrian represen-
tations and carved ivories from Ziwiye. Chariot scenes from Persepolis show a vari-
ety of similar harnessing devices. Much more so than the harnessing, the rectangular
cart and the manner in which the wheel of the chariot is set towards the back of the
cart (rather than its middle) find many parallels in Assyrian monumental relief from
both the early and the late periods.49 Such a manner of depicting the placement of the
chariot wheel is as yet undocumented in Persepolitan glyptic.50 So, too, the inclusion
of an inscription in a chariot scene is as yet undocumented at Persepolis.51 The pose
of the archer and the carving, the miniaturist modeled style, are, however, closely
connected to Persepolis.

Amiet no. 16 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 7;

Amiet 1973: 11–12)
An archer riding on the back of a quadruped shoots at a fleeing quadruped; there is a
three-­line Elamite inscription disposed in the field. Amiet no. 16 is the most-­discussed
seal from the two glyptic corpora from Susa. Amiet (1973: 12), and many commenta-
tors following him, identified the theme, a hunter on horseback, as a hallmark of Late
Neo-­Elamite glyptic. In this connection, the seal is also often invoked in discussions of
PFS 93* (Figure 32.2), the great heirloom seal from Persepolis that carries an inscrip-
tion naming ‘Kuraš the Anzanite, Son of Šešpeš’ (Garrison 2011). PFS 93* shows a
horseman spearing a human figure on foot; the latter turns toward the horseman and
raises a broken bow. Dead enemies float horizontally in the lower field of the scene.
Amiet noted that the theme of hunt on horseback has a general connection to Assyrian

659
 — Mark B. Garrison —

Figure 32.1  Amiet no. 16 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 7).
Line-drawing by Mark B. Garrison; photographs by J. Álvarez-Mon.

monumental relief of the time of Aššurbanipal.52 His suggestion that the rider on Amiet
no. 16 is nude seems unlikely (the passage where one would expect the hem of a pair of
pants is not well preserved). The animal that the bowman rides is not a horse, but some
type of fantastic creature; the head appears avian or reptilian, while the tail is forked.53
Amiet (1973: 11) considered the carving on Amiet no. 16 to be quite noteworthy:
“(l)a gravure en est d’une finesse exceptionnelle et présente des qualités de dessin et

660
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

de modelé remarquables par la vivacité et l’élégance des attitudes.” While I  would

agree with Amiet concerning the general finesse of the carving, in fact stylistically
the seal is closely related to the miniaturist modeled style that we have encountered
in most of the previous seals. One should note here especially the segmentation in
human and animal form. There is, however, quite a bit of fussy drill work in the carv-
ing; such drill work calls to mind Amiet no. 6.54
We are able to offer an improved reading of the inscription on Amiet no. 16. Amiet
(following M. Lambert) read:

kit(?)-da-­da
hi-­ku(?)
[n]a-­ak
‘Kidada. . .’

The inscription clearly starts in front of the horseman with the DIŠ sign; each of the
following two lines also start in front of the horseman:

an-­da-­da DUMU EŠŠANA

DIŠ

ur/taš-­še?-
eh-­na
‘Andada, son of King Taššeh’

We thus have a conventional late Neo-­ Elamite/Achaemenid Elamite inscription:

PN1 DUMU PN2-na. Neither name (Andada or Taššeh) occurs in the texts from the
Acropole tablets or the Apadana tablets; indeed, the names are unattested in the whole
of the late Neo-­Elamite onomasticon. Tavernier (2011: 198 s.v. 2.2.1.18 *Dāθayak-­)
has suggested that Taššeh’ is Iranian.55 Unusual names are, however, quite common
in the Elamite seal inscriptions from the Fortification archive.
Perhaps the most interesting issue is not the names, but the title EŠŠANA, ‘king.’56
Even more intriguing is the occurrence of the title in the patronym rather than the
first personal name, an inscriptional formula that is unattested in late Neo-­Elamite
seal inscriptions. As W.H.M. Henkelman reminds me, there must have been many
individuals in the Elamite highlands and lowlands in the 6th century BC who styled
themselves ‘king.’ What, exactly, we ought to conclude from the occurrence of this
title on the second most commonly occurring seal on the Acropole tablets is unclear.
The presence of the title EŠŠANA in the inscription is fascinating also when
considered in relation to the figural imagery. The thematic similarity with PFS 93*
(­Figure 32.2), the heirloom seal of Kuraš the Anzanite, Son of Šešpeš, preserved in the
Fortification archive at Persepolis, has generally been read from the direction of Susa.
That is, Amiet no. 16 establishes the late Neo-­Elamite heritage of the theme of hunter
on horseback shooting at animals; the occurrence of a related theme, warrior on horse-
back shooting at enemies, on PFS 93* must then indicate that PFS 93* is derivative of
“late Neo-­Elamite glyptic.” If, however, PFS 93* in fact dates earlier than Amiet no. 16
(Garrison 2011), and if PFS 93* reflects some attempt to articulate a nascent court style
in the highlands associated with the Teispid line, Amiet no. 16 may then be derivative,
an attempt to emulate this highland court style in the lowlands. The use of the title
EŠŠANA in Amiet no. 16 may also emulate the inscription in PFS 93*.57

661
 — Mark B. Garrison —

Figure 32.2  Seal of Kuraš the Anzanite, Son of Šešpeš, preserved in the
Fortification archive at Persepolis (PFS 93*) (line-­drawing by M.B. Garrison;
photograph of PFS 93* on PF 2033 [reverse]).

Amiet no. 17 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 12; Amiet 1973: 12)
A heroic encounter of the control type; the animals are held upturned, their heads not
preserved. There is an inscription in the terminal field.58 Amiet (1973: 12) remarked

662
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

on the upturned animals, their vertical placement in the field, and the manner in
which the winged figure holds them, the first two features of which he saw as point-
ing to Persepolis. Certainly the Fortification archive has many examples of heroes
who hold animals/creatures upturned;59 and Amiet was correct that the preferred
disposition of the upturned animal/creatures is vertical rather than diagonal.60 The
fact that the hero appears to hold both of the animals’ hindlegs is unusual; a nice
parallel from Persepolis is PFS 1* (Cat.No. 182), which is carved in a similar style.
Other noteworthy features are the four-­winged hero (not uncommon at Persepolis)
and the headgear that he wears. Amiet said that the head of the hero was “en partie
effacée,” but there are many nice details that are preserved. The figure clearly wears
an elaborate headdress consisting of three short pointed extensions at the front of the
forehead, a knob at the crown of the head, and one short pointed extension at the
back of the head.61 The garment is double-­belted. Amiet suggested that this may be a
goddess, although he did not give any specific reasons as to why he thought this. The
figure does not appear to have a beard (or, if there is one, it is cropped short). The
form of the headdress is not exclusive to female deities; the scorpion-­men on PFS 4*
(Cat.No. 292) from Persepolis wear an almost identical headdress. On the same seal,
the bearded hero wears a cap with a rounded knob at its crown; the bearded heroes
on PFS 883* (Cat.No. 97) and PFS 1586 (Cat.No. 121) have a horn at the front of
their headdresses. The carving is a very restrained miniaturist modeled style; the exe-
cution is very good and there is much detail.

Amiet no. 18 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 3; Amiet 1973: 13)
The composition appears to be a figure disposed to either side of a pole-­like object.
The figure at left is clearly winged (four wings); the one at right does not appear to
have wings, but the preservation is poor. Amiet (1973: 13) suggested “atlantes ailés,
à demi-­agenouillés . . . qui ne portent rien.” Neither figure, however, is in the atlantid
pose. The one at left is in a kneeling/running pose, one arm held out in front of his
body, the other bent and held behind his body. The one at right appears to lift his
forward leg; one arm is bent and held in front of his body, the other is straight and
held behind his body. In between them is a pole-­like object, perhaps some type of
cultic implement/installation. The composition would appear to read as a scene of
worship; there are traces of objects that cannot be resolved to the left and right of
the main scene. The preservation of this seal is very poor; nevertheless, the carving is
much better than indicated by Amiet’s comments and drawing. It is executed in the
miniaturist modeled style (note the swelling musculature in calves, thighs, and shoul-
ders of the human figures).

Amiet no. 19 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 8; Amiet 1973: 13)
A human figure reaches out toward a caprid, perhaps to feed it. There is a paneled
inscription in the field above the caprid.62 Amiet (1973: 13) thought that the figure
was feeding the caprid and related the scene to the ancient image of the priest-­king
and flocks/herds of the Uruk period. It is, however, extremely difficult to determine
what exactly the human is doing. I could see no evidence of a stalk in his hand. The
lower arm is awkwardly rendered as coming across or behind the body, and it extends

663
 — Mark B. Garrison —

all the way to the snout of the caprid. There are many examples of a human figure
interacting with an animal in a non-­threatening manner in Persepolitan glyptic. PFS
287 and PFS 1044 show a human figure reaching out to touch the snout of an ani-
mal.63 The figure on Amiet no. 19 wears a double-­belted ankle-­length garment with a
dagger sheath at its back. The garment type is common at Persepolis. The carving is
very accomplished, yet another example of the miniaturist modeled style (note espe-
cially the puffy, rounded shoulders, segmented arms, and pinched waist of the human
figure). The display of the inscription, in a panel in the upper field over the figural
imagery, is very unusual; there are only a few examples of such a layout at Persepolis.64

Amiet no. 20 (Amiet 1973: 13)

Crossed rampant animals (lions?); there is a rounded object (plant?) in the terminal
field that cannot be resolved.65 Crossed animals/creatures are very popular in Perse-
politan glyptic.66 The carving is the miniaturist modeled style, nicely executed. The
attenuation of the animal bodies and swelling of the chests are hallmarks of related
modeled styles at Persepolis.

Amiet no. 21 (Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, no. 9; Amiet 1973: 13)
An archer shoots toward a fleeing animal. There is an inscription with one case line
preserved in the terminal field.67 The archer is in a kneeling/running pose. The theme
and pose are extremely popular in Persepolitan glyptic.68 The carving, miniaturist
modeled style, is very good. At Persepolis these archer scenes, as Amiet no. 21, have
an animated quality. The use of case line(s) without a panel for inscriptions is also
well documented at Persepolis.69

Amiet no. 22 (Amiet 1973: 13–14)

A horseman shoots a bow and arrow toward a fleeing animal. Amiet (1973: 13) pro-
vides only a few hasty comments on this seal, noting that it exhibits the same assured
carving as the seals from the Acropole tablets. The scene is strikingly similar to Amiet
no. 16 in its composition, iconography, and style. The animal ridden by the archer
even has the same extended neck and possible non-­equine head (this passage is, how-
ever, poorly preserved). The fleeing animal has an arrow protruding from its back.
This trope is an interesting narrative device that is commonly seen in Persepolitan
glyptic.70 The carving is miniaturist modeled style.

Amiet no. 23 (Amiet 1973: 13–14)

A winged creature marchant; there are objects which cannot be identified in the
field to left and right of the winged creature. The impression is poorly preserved
and the full composition cannot be resolved. Single animal/creature studies on cyl-
inder seals are rare at Persepolis. As Amiet (1973: 13–14) noted, the seal is poorly
executed. The segmentation of the chest of the creature calls to mind a similar con-
vention employed in seals cut in the miniaturist modeled style at Susa; the carving
is, however, quite flat.

664
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

SYNOPS IS
I am even more struck than in 2006 by the high quality of the carving (the exception is
Amiet no. 23) and stylistic consistency (almost exclusively miniaturist modeled style)
within the glyptic corpora from Susa. These seals, with the exception of Amiet no.
23, are outstanding glyptic artifacts.71 As in Garrison (2006), I would emphasize the
direct linkages in style, themes, and compositional formulae to Persepolitan glyptic.

AB B REVIATIO NS
PFATS seal preserved as impression(s) on Aramaic documents from the Persepolis
Fortification archive.
PFS seal preserved as impression(s) on Elamite documents from the Persepolis
Fortification archive; seals carrying this siglum may also occur on Aramaic
and/or uninscribed documents.
PFUTS seal preserved as impression(s) on uninscribed documents from the Perse-
polis Fortification archive; seals carrying this siglum may also occur on Ara-
maic documents.
* indicates an inscribed seal
s indicates a stamp seal

NOTE S
1 I would like to thank W.M.F. Henkelman for his readings of the Elamite inscriptions in
this study and for his insights on Neo-­Elamite history and culture in general. Many of the
comments concerning late Neo-­Elamite glyptic are based upon study of the seals preserved
as impressions on the Persepolis Fortification archive. The study of this glyptic material is
made possible by the Persepolis Fortification Archive Project and its director M.W. Stolper,
to whom I offer many thanks.
2 Despite the relative wealth of glyptic evidence for the Middle Elamite style, there remain
many problems of chronology and iconology (cf. the comments of Matthews 1970: 3).
3 Potts (2016: 282–304) discusses in some detail the archaeological evidence for the very
latest phase of the Neo-­Elamite period. For general introductions to the Fortification
archive, see Garrison and Root 2001; Henkelman 2008; Garrison 2017: 15-116.
4 Thirty-­nine seals in total.
5 Note van Loon (1989: 447–448), who reconstructs two successive groups among these
early seals, the faience seals carved in the “deep-­line” style (that emerges directly from
late Middle Elamite glyptic, Amiet 1972: nos. 2130–2145), followed by the bitumen seals
“carved in a deeply gouged style with a new repertoire of motifs (griffins with sickle-­
shaped wings, et cetera: Susa 2126, 2127, and 2155).”
6 Cf. the remarks of Amiet 1972: 273.
7 Various and conflicting phases and dates have been proposed. Waters (2000: 33–34)
concisely surveys the principal chronologies, proposed by Steve (1992), Malbran-­Labat
(1995), and Vallat (1996: 393, 1998a: 310). Potts (2016: 251–296), as most commenta-
tors, proposes three phases based principally on historical events and the sequencing of
royal names: Neo-­Elamite I (ca. 1000–744 BC), Neo-­Elamite II (743–646 BC), and Neo-­
Elamite III (645–539 BC). Note de Miroschedji (1981 and 1990), who, based upon the
archaeological evidence, posits only two phases for the period. Tavernier (2004) offers a
detailed analysis of the problems and conflicts involved in establishing a coherent list of
kings in Elam for the first millennium BC (responding principally to Vallat 1995b, 1996,
1998a, 1998b, and 2002). For an archaeological perspective from Susa, see the magisterial

665
 — Mark B. Garrison —

survey of Steve, Vallat, and Gasche (2002: cols. 470–485), who also propose a tripartite
division of the Neo-­Elamite period at Susa but with substantially different dates than
Potts. Henkelman (2008: 4–28) provides a summary of the issues. Carter (2011) surveys
the principal archaeological data for the whole of Elam in the Neo-­Elamite period.
8 See Amiet (1967 [glazed architectural decoration] and 1973 [glyptic]) and de Miroschedji
(1982, 1985) for the initial suggestions of a revived polity at Susa (see also de Miroschedji
1990). Henkelman (2003, 2008: 2–57) has argued forcefully for this scenario. For surveys
of the evidence and conflicting opinions, see Álvarez-­Mon, Garrison, and Stronach (2011)
and Potts (2016: 282–296).
9 For similar suggestions of Elamite-­Iranian acculturation, see Steve 1991; Amiet 1992;
Álvarez-­Mon 2015.
10 Seals: Amiet 1973: nos. 1–16 (Acropole) and 17–23 (Apadana). Hereafter, I refer to these
seals simply as Amiet no. 1, Amiet no. 2, etc. Acropole texts: Scheil 1907: 1–202, nos.
1–298 and 1911: 101, no. 309; Jusifov 1963a and 1963b. Apadana texts: Scheil 1911:
93–100, nos. 301–307. There are many fragments of tablets, most likely from the Acropole
archive (to judge by the occurrence of some of the same seals as found on the Acropole
tablets), in storage in the Louvre. Single impressions of all the seals except Amiet nos. 2,
12, 20, 22, and 23 were published in low quality photographs in Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48,
nos. 1–19 (two impressions of Amiet no. 5 were published [Delaporte 1920: Pl. 48, nos.
14 and 19]).
1
1 Henkelman (2008: 6 note 10) surveys the opinions.
12 Note also Amiet (1992: 92), where he places the “seal” on the Persepolis Bronze Plaque
with the late Neo-­Elamite glyptic corpus.
13 Another cluster of seals from Susa (Amiet 1972: 2160–2179) appears to be principally
imports from Assyria and Babylonia or so heavily Assyrianizing/Babylonianizing that one
can hardly tell whether they are imports or local products (nos. 2167 and 2167bis are
impressions on clay documents). Amiet (1972: 274) dated the cylinder seals from this
group to the late 8th–early 7th centuries BC. The cylinders include, as one would expect,
several heroic encounters (nos. 2163, 2166, 2167, 2176bis). The stamp seals, not surpris-
ingly, carry the so-­called late Babylonian worship scene (nos. 2172–2175 and 2177) or
Assyro-­Babylonian religious emblems (nos. 2176, 2178–2179). The exception is no. 2168,
a bronze stamp-­pendant with double Pazuzu heads, which shows a caprid and crescent;
the style seems quite coarse.
14 For an introduction to the texts and seals from the Fortification archive, see Garrison and
Root 2001; Henkelman 2008: 65–179; Garrison 2017: 15–116. Seals from Persepolis
followed by Cat.No. cited in the following discussions refer to the catalogue numbers in
Garrison and Root 2001.
15 I want to thank Dr. Béatrice Andre-­Salvini, former curator of the ancient Near Eastern
collections in the Louvre, who facilitated my research on these tablets.
16 The Treasury archive from Persepolis, dated by date formulae in the Elamite documents
to year 30 of Darius I through year 7 of Artaxerxes I (492–457 BC), concerns payments
of silver from the Treasury in lieu of partial or full commodity rations (sheep, wine, and
grain) to workers involved in construction projects (presumably) at Persepolis and the sur-
rounding area. The Treasury archive is much smaller than the Fortification archive but still
preserves a substantial glyptic corpus consisting of 77 distinct seals; 43 cylinder seals and
34 stamps/signets. On the seals from the Treasury archive, see Garrison (2017: 71–77);
the seals from the Treasury archive were originally published in Schmidt 1957: 4–41, Pls.
3–14.
7
1 For the style, see the discussion in Garrison 2000: 129–134.
18 As Amiet (1973: 8) noted, the inscription on Amiet no. 6 is an entreaty to Marduk and
Nabû written in Babylonian.

666
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

9
1 See the discussion below.
20 Garrison 2017: 102.
21 Amiet nos. 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 19, 21.
22 Discussed in Garrison (2017: 76–77): PTS 1*, PTS 2*, PTS 3*, PFS 113*/PTS 4*, PTS 6*,
PTS 8*, PTS 14*, PTS 24*, PFS 71*/PTS 33*.
23 For example, PFS 429 (Cat.No. 7), PFS 1387 (Cat.No. 72), PFS 1458 (Cat.No. 80), PFS
1641 (Cat.No. 18).
24 Garrison 2000: 129–134. For specific Persepolitan seals that combine the uplifted leg with
a scimitar held down behind the body, see, for example, PFS 57* (Cat.No. 239), PFS 98*
(Cat.No. 217), PFS 149 (Cat.No. 212), PFS 236 (Cat.No. 213), PFS 815* (Cat.No. 215),
PFS 1566* (Cat.No. 218), PFATS 437. For specific Persepolitan seals that combine the
confronting pose with a scimitar held down behind the body, see, for example, PFS 33
(Cat.No. 220), PFS 526* (Cat.No. 216), PFS 1367s (Cat.No. 211), PFS 2970, PFUTS 391,
PFUTS 506, PFATS 35.
5
2 Note also the ostriches in the control heroic encounter on PFS 29 (Cat.No. 302).
26 See the examples cited above, note 24.
27 Garrison 2013: 585–586.
28 Discussed in Garrison in press.
29 For example, PFS 12a, PFS 12b, PFS 216, PFS 310, PFS 706*, PFS 1572.
30 Our copy of the inscription confirms Amiet’s reading.
31 I count 124 tablets.
32 At Persepolis there is only one seal that has a similar rendering of the stylized tree, PFS
2266.
33 PFS 2089* has a similar archaizing quality. Amiet (1973: 9) was convinced that his seal
no. 6 was a 7th century BC Babylonian product. He hypothesized that the small worshiper
may have been added to the design only when the seal was used at Susa. The Babylonian
inscription is certainly a striking feature of this seal within the context of the Susa glyptic
corpus, and the overall quality of the carving and iconographic detail is rather more elab-
orate than the other Assyrianizing products at Susa (and Persepolis); following Amiet, the
seal may indeed be an import. I would suggest, however, that the composition indicates an
Assyrian milieu (the scene is rare in Babylonian contexts). The seal may be some type of
sophisticated blend of Assyrian and Babylonian elements (perhaps pointing toward Susa
rather than Babylonia as its place of origin).
4
3 PFATS 45, PFS 442, PFS 2361, and PFUTS 123s.
35 I was able to read only the DUMU sign in the inscription (cf. the reading in Amiet 1973:
27: . . . / šak an . . . / ú . . .).
36 Amiet (1973: 10) suggested that the figure holds “des tiges auxquelles peuvent être attachés
trois globules; ces tiges semblent tenir la place des cordons terminés parfois par un fruit,
qui tombent du disque ailé.”
7
3 See the discussion above for Amiet no. 3.
38 I was able to read only a few broken signs (cf. Amiet 1973: 27, “(i)nscription effacée”).
39 As with the previous inscription, I was able to read only a few broken signs (cf. Amiet
1973: 27, “(i)nscription illisible”).
40 I was unable to improve on the reading in Amiet (1973: 28): DIŠ ANhu-­ / pan  .  .  .  /
[DUMU] . . . / . . . -na.
41 I was able to read a few broken signs in four lines (cf. Amiet 1973: 28, “(i)nscription effacée”).
42 I was able to see only parts of the inscription panel and one case line (cf. Amiet 1973: 28,
“(i)nscription effacée”).
43 Possible three figures: PFUTS 57; possible archer: PFS 2170. Both seals are, however,
poorly preserved. See also the comments below, note 44, concerning PFUTS 603*, which
may have had an archer.

667
 — Mark B. Garrison —

44 Merrillees 2005: 52–53 (no. 16). There appears to be a replica of this seal at Persepolis,
PFUTS 603, although only the driver, horse, figure in winged disk, and date palm are pre-
served (see Garrison 2014: 90, figs. 7.28–29).
45 For example, PFATS 596, PFS 311, PFS 718, PFS 2170, PFS 2622, PFS 2663.
46 For archer scenes in Persepolitan glyptic, see Garrison 2010.
47 The Assyrian evidence is discussed by Collon 2001: 59–63.
48 Amiet (1973) does not appear to have recognized that the seal is inscribed. I could read
clearly only one sign, DUMU, and a broken sign under the DUMU. The evidence sug-
gests that the original inscription read: PN1 DUMU PN2 (see Garrison [2006: 70–72] for
inscriptional formulae at Persepolis).
49 For example, the lion and bull hunts (slabs B-19 and B-20) and the warfare scenes (slabs
B-3 – B-8, B-10, B-11, and B-27) in throne room B in the palace of Aššurnasirpal II at
Nimrud (Meuszyński 1981: Pls. 1–3); the famous lion hunts in room C in the palace of
Assurbanipal at Nineveh (Barnett 1976: Pls. 8, and 10–12).
50 Chariots depicted on the Apadana reliefs at Persepolis are, however, configured similarly
to the chariot on Amiet no. 15. These chariots include both those in the delegations of
the subject peoples (e.g., Schmidt 1953: Pls. 32 and 48) and the so-­called king’s chariots
(Schmidt 1953: Pl. 52).
51 This is, in fact, quite noteworthy given the large number of chariot scenes that survive at
Persepolis.
52 Amiet (1994: 63) briefly brought into the discussion the two remarkable seals from
Nineveh that show mounted hunters (spears rather than bow and arrow); these two
Assyrian seals, and the Assyrian connections of PFS 93* in general, are discussed in detail
in Garrison 2011: passim, 397–399, Figure 36 (for the two seals from Nineveh).
53 Amiet (1973: 12) described the tail as “la queue nouée en son milieu.”
54 I would reiterate (Garrison 2011: 381–383) that stylistically Amiet no. 16 is quite differ-
ent from PFS 93*. Amiet no. 16 comes out of the miniaturist modeled style but has much
abstract detail. In comparison, PFS 93* and its companion PFS 51 are much more heavily
modeled with no abstract detail work.
55 I thank W.H.M. Henkelman for his reading of the inscription. He writes (pers. comm.)
that “the last PN strikes me as very odd, it cannot be correct like this; maybe the reading
direction is boustrophedon, but that does not make it much better. ur/taš could also be the
end of the first part of a name, Sunki-­ur. The sign I read as še could perhaps be UG, if there
are five wedges (two at the bottom instead of one long one); if the last sign is incomplete
it could be eh (one of the values of ah): taš-­še-­eh-­na. Not an Elamite name, but Andada
seems equally unfamiliar.” Working from Lambert’s transcription in Amiet (1973), Vallat
(1995a) suggested that the inscription on Amiet no. 16 is retrograde: Da-­da DUMU taš-­
še-­ak-­na. This interpretation now seems unlikely.
56 Assuming that the word is in fact a title and not part of a personal name (see above, note
55).
57 The exact interpretation and significance of the inscription on PFS 93* are issues of much
discussion. Henkelman (this volume) briefly reviews some of this scholarship. He, right-
fully in my opinion, stresses the strategic and ideological importance of ‘Anšan/Anzan’ in
Teispid titulature.
58 The inscription is nicely executed. Three lines are preserved in the terminal field without
case lines or a panel. Amiet (1973: 28) read: . . . / gaz-­za / ak-­ / [p]è-­na. I could see no
evidence of the [p]è.
59 Garrison and Root 2001: 256–281.
60 Although there are examples where the upturned animals/creatures are disposed diago-
nally in the field, for example, PFS 64* (Cat.No. 173), PFS 234 (Cat.No. 188), PFS 885
(Cat.No. 187).

668
 — Glyptic in the 1st millennium —

1
6 Cf. Amiet 1973: 12: “une tiare à cornes en forme de casque arrondi.”
62 I could read no more of the inscription than Amiet (1973: 28): . . . / DUMU . . . / ti-­na.
63 The style of PFS 287 is, however, clearly not local.
64 Notably PFS 83* and PFS 1568*, discussed at length in Garrison 2017: 333–349, 366–373.
65 The one impression of the seal is very poor.
66 Amiet (1973: 13) noted the occurrence of the theme at Persepolis. He would have been
unaware of the large number of examples that exist (see Garrison 2006).
7
6 I could read three broken signs in two lines (cf. Amiet [1973: 28]: “illisible”).
68 See Garrison 2010.
69 Most notably, PFS 4* (Cat.No. 292).
70 Note especially the famous PFS 51, the companion seal of PFS 93* (Garrison 2006: 383–
390, Figures 14–19).
71 Cf. the comments of Amiet 1973: 25; de Miroschedji 1982: 63.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ELAMITE DRESS AND TEXTILES 1

Trudy S. Kawami

INTRODU CTIO N
The study of Elamite dress and textiles provides a view of the complicated world of
Elam that supplements the more familiar archaeological remains of stone, metal, clay
and ceramic. Most of the documents for dress are two-­dimensional representations
in stone or engravings on small cylinder seals. A few written references to dress and
textiles occur in cuneiform texts, but most are lists or receipts merely mentioning
the fiber, usually wool or linen. Actual evidence of the fibers themselves is limited
to pseudomorphs preserved on corroded metal, and in only one case, an actual tex-
tile. Representations of textiles are a poor substitute for the actual work. We cannot
examine the fibers, explore the cut, or feel the “hand” of the fabric. We cannot say
with certainty if the garments are cut or wrapped, fitted or merely cinched tight; if the
décor is appliqued, embroidered or woven. Nor can we see their colors or appreciate
the garments in motion, a major aspect of their appearance.
Elamite dress may be divided into two basic categories, divine and human. Divine
dress may be marked by archaisms but can also reflect cultural influences from out-
side Elam. We cannot take divine garments as examples of dress that was actually
worn by living individuals. Written accounts detail the existence and care of actual
garments made for divine images in Mesopotamia, and we know their production
and décor involved many craftspeople (Zawadzki 2006; Neumann 2017). We may
assume the same for divine garments in Elam. Human garments can be divided
between those worn by individuals of high rank and more ordinary garments. These
last are rarely depicted in any detail, as they signified neither the status nor power of
those commissioning the art works.

PROTO-­L ITERATE/P ROTO -­E L AM ITE P E RIO D

(CA. 3 2 0 0 –290 0 B CE )
Without written evidence, we cannot document Elamite-­speaking people at the turn
of the 4th millennium BCE (the Protoliterate/Jemdet Nasr Period) in Iran. Nonethe-
less, we know a little of the dress and textiles of this period. Our evidence comes

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primarily from the great city of Susa in the lowlands of Khuzistan, a city that was
already a metropolis of impressive size in the 4th millennium BCE (Potts 2016:
49–53; Harper et al.1992: 4–5, 26–31). Figures wrapped in long smooth robes were
engraved on small stone cylinder seals and also survive in the impressions of such
seals. A few small stone sculptures show kneeling figures with smooth robes wrapped
around them, only the soles of their feet visible at the back. The assumption has been
that these are priestesses or worshippers (Harper et al. 1992: 58–59, 62–63).
The most detailed depiction of a garment is found on the kneeling silver bull, now
in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York (Harper et al.1992, Figure 5). The
smooth garment wrapping around the legs and body has narrow stripes that alternate
between plain and stepped bands. The edge of the garment has a fine narrow fringe
running diagonally from under the proper left arm to the proper right knee. The cor-
ner of this garment, curving around the proper right knee has a broad, fan-­like tassel
at its corner. This is the earliest clear example of fringe, a decorative aspect of Elamite
dress that will be seen for millennia. It is impossible to tell if the stripes of the garment
are woven, embroidered or perhaps pieced from narrow strips. But we can appreciate
the effect of what must have been a sumptuous, sophisticated textile. The being wear-
ing this garment is neither mundane nor mortal but a supernatural creature of power
and importance (Hansen 1970). Thus we are justified in considering this divine dress.
In contrast to this numinous image, the heroic, presumably princely, male figures
depicted in some seal impressions from Susa wear a short kilt with a thick rounded
belt (Harper et al. 1992: 52, Figure 28). The same garb is worn by similar figures in
Mesopotamian glyptic (Braun-­Holzinger 2007: 11–12, Pls. 5–9; Moortgat 1969, Pl.
14). Even before we are sure we have Elamite-­speaking people, we can see a distinc-
tion between divine and human dress in southwestern Iran, as well as the presence of
some Mesopotamian elements.
The fiber from which these clothes were fashioned was probably linen. Flax was
cultivated and woven in southern Mesopotamia and appears in lists of woven textiles
as early as 3300 BCE (Szarzyn’ska 2002: 36, 42; for the antiquity and widespread
exploitation of plant-­derived fibers in the Ancient Near East see Barber 1991: 10–15;
Good 1998: 657; Bier 1995: 1578). Contemporaneous linen pseudomorphs on a
copper axe from Susa and Tepe Sialk in north-­central Iran give further evidence of its
widespread use before the later 3rd millennium BCE (Kawami 1992a: 7–8). Slightly
later, mid-­3rd millennium BCE texts from Tello in Mesopotamia refer to “Susian” flax
being grown in southern Mesopotamia (Potts 2012: 51). Given the warm and humid
climate of Khuzistan, one can see how linen, which is lightweight and breathes, could
be a fiber of choice. Wool of course is also a possibility, and was a documented export
to Mesopotamia before the Akkadian period (Potts 2016: 84). Wool was used for
90% of the textiles in the records of the Third Dynasty of Ur in later Mesopotamia
(Zawadzki 2006: 23), so the copious use of linen may be an Elamite characteristic.
The late 4th millennium BCE also provides the earliest representation of the ground
loom in Iranian art (Bier 1995: 1574; Kawami 1992: 8).

THE 3 RD MILLE NNIU M B CE

By the late 3rd millennium BCE, Elamite-­speaking people are clearly the ruling elite
in the lowlands of Khuzistan. Their garb and that of their deities at Susa seems to

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have followed Mesopotamian styles (Harper et al. 1992: 83). A seated stone sculpture
of the goddess Narundi commissioned by Puzur-­Inshushunak, governor (ensi) of Susa
and the last king of Awan, probably a region in the mountains of western Iran, about
2100 BCE (Harper et al.1992: 90–92, No. 55; Potts 2008: 188–190; 2016: 112–117),
is almost identical to Mesopotamian divine images (Harper et al.1992, Figure 5). The
goddess wears long robes covered with horizontal rows of long flounces or perhaps
lappets, with slightly pointed ends. This flounced garment has been called a kaunakes,
a Greek term for a fleecy sheep’s hide, but it is unlikely that the gods were thought
of as wearing stiff, heavy, hairy hides given that linen is well documented earlier, as
were wool textiles.
The construction of these flounced garments,2 clothing that could ripple and flow
over the bodies that they covered, is unknown. The rows of flounces could be appli-
qued individually as tufts of fiber, produced in long bands of fringe, trimmed into
patterns and then appliqued, or woven in versions of looped pile, cut-­loop or knotted
pile and then trimmed in a variety of ways.3 Whatever the construction, the Susa
garment would be equally appropriate in Mesopotamia. The horned headgear of the
goddess is based on the model developed in Mesopotamia in the Akkadian period
(Amiet 1992). Aside from the Elamite inscription, and perhaps the multiple earrings,
there is little to distinguish this sculpture from a Mesopotamian product.
A very different type of garment is worn by the interceding/praising goddess on
a now-­fragmentary relief commissioned by Puzur-­Inshushsinak (Harper et al.1992:
88, No. 54). Instead of horizontal flounces, her garment looks as if it had either long
thin vertical pleats or perhaps stripes like that on the kneeling silver bull. They run
uninterrupted from the top of her garment to the hem, the lines broken only by her
bare arms. The hem of the garment ends above the feet, flaring out slightly at each
side. Some male deities wore similar clothing (Amiet 1972: Pl. 148, 1567).
The influence of Mesopotamian fashion is also seen in the garb of Puzur-­
Inshushinak himself, to judge from his inscribed stone sculpture [Figure  33.1]. He
wears a long smooth robe with an elaborately knotted fringe along its finished edge
that falls down his proper left side. Elaborate borders featuring fringe tied into dis-
creet sections terminating in square knots, or perhaps beads are best known from the
sculptures of the Akkadian ruler Manishtusu (2269–2255 BCE) (Harper et al. 1992:
166; Moortgat 1969, Pls. 141, 142, 148, 149). Susa was ruled by Akkadian governors
during the previous centuries and the adoption of Akkadian princely dress by subse-
quent Elamite rulers like Puzur-­inshushinak would not be surprising.
Another work dated to the time of Puzur-­Inshushunak is a beautiful silver beaker
found in an uncontrolled situation on the Marv Dasht plain near Persepolis (Harper
et al.1992: 8, Figure 9; Potts 2008: 165–171; Pittman 2002: 224–227). The beaker
depicts two female figures, one standing and one seated as if on the ground, each
wearing a voluminous garment. This robe or gown is covered with evenly spaced
tapered flounces, or perhaps appliqued lappets, forming an all-­over diamond pattern.
Both figures also have a band of long undulating fringe in thin triangular segments
that encircles the neck, extending over the shoulders. A second similar band, or per-
haps an extension of the first, curves around the waist, draping diagonally across the
standing figure. On the seated figure, this element is nearly obscured by the curve of
the covered left arm but is clearly differentiated from the diamond pattern on the
rest of the garment (Potts 2008: 167–168, Figs. 2 and 3). Both garments have long

675
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Figure 33.1  The garb of Puzur-­Inshushinak (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

sleeves that taper to an angled edge well above the wrist. The garments shown on
the silver beaker are distinct from the Mesopotamian examples in that the flounces
are not arranged in regular horizontal rows but cover the field of the garment in
an even pattern. The sleeves, too, are not known elsewhere. The beaker’s find spot

676
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has suggested to some that it depicts the garb of highland divinities and illustrates
a tradition distinct from that of lowland Susa. But the garments on the Marv Dasht
beaker find closest parallels in the BMAC culture of Central Asia. Three seated stone
female figures and a seated female on a silver seal-­pin from Gonur wear volumi-
nous flounced robes and have the same band of differentiated fringe around the neck
and waist (Potts 2008: 185: 177, Figs. 11 and 15; Sarianidi 2002: 142, 231). Other
unprovenanced pieces from the region show the same detail, for instance, Louvre AO
22918. Another distinctive feature of the dress on the Marv Dasht beaker is the hem
that trails behind the wearer as if the garment were longer in back than in front. This
characteristic is also unknown in Mesopotamian representations. The trailing hem
combined with the delicate bare feet poking from beneath give both figures a distinc-
tive animation. Potts (2008: 180–186) has suggested that the beaker itself is a BMAC
product, perhaps from Gonur, receiving its Elamite inscription only after being sent
to Puzur-­Inshushinak as a diplomatic gift or in trade. The inscription on the seated
sculpture of Puzur-­Inshushinak described people from Shimashki bringing tribute;
perhaps the gifts included a silver beaker.
Possible influence of works like the Marv Dasht beaker has been noted in seals
of the Elamite “common style” (Amiet’s “popular Elamite”), now called “highland”
or Anshanite, that appear in Elamite glyptic art directly after the time of Puzur-­
inshushinak (Potts 2008; 2016: 188–192; Pittman 2002: 221–224, 231). One notable
exemplar is a cylinder seal belonging to Ebarat, a king of Awan in the 21st or 20th
century BCE (Harper et al.1992: 114, Figure 73). Whether the figures in the seal are
human or divine, their garb differs markedly from that of the previous period.
A striking Elamite copper male head of unclear provenance and now in the Met-
ropolitan Museum of Art, New York, has also been dated to this period (Harper et
al.1992: 176, Figure 49; Pittman 2002: 187; Muscarella 1988: 368–374). Of partic-
ular interest is its unusual headgear; it is not a turban, though it may look like that
from the front. When viewed from the side or rear, one can make out an arrangement
of bands that seem to loop over and through the hair, seeming to secure a patterned
segment on the back of the head. It may be a male parallel to the band worn by the
standing female on the Marv Dasht beaker, and perhaps a more naturalistic repre-
sentation of the headband worn by two small figures from Susa (Pitman 2003: 187).

EARLIER 2ND M IL L E NNIU M

(OLD ELAMITE, 19 0 0 – 1 5 0 0 B CE )
While the late 3rd millennium saw varied currents of influence from both Mesopo-
tamia and Central Asia in Elamite dress, the earlier 2nd millennium BCE, the time
of the sukkalmahs or grand regents at Susa and Anshan, saw the development of
distinct forms of dress that would persist into the first millennium BCE. The garb
of both mortals and deities is shown on a monumental scale in a striking rock relief
at Kurangun. Usually dated to the 17th century BCE, the central rectangular panel
features a seated divine couple honored by six standing worshippers, two male and
one female on either side (for the possible identities of these deities see Potts 2013:
133–135; Henkelman 2008: 376). The worn state of the rock’s surface has obscured
the details of divine dress, though it is of interest to note that the goddess crouches as
if sitting low on her podium, and her robe trails out behind her, falling to the level on

677
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which the worshippers are standing. Her pose and garment evoke the earlier Marv
Dasht beaker and the Anshanite seals. These trailing robes will remain a characteris-
tic of elite Elamite female dress for the millennium. The male worshippers wear long
robes that flare slightly above the ankles, leaving the feet exposed, and wear a head
covering with a distinctive forward-­pointing peak or visor. This is the first represen-
tation of the curious headgear that will be associated with Elamite rulers, particularly
in the highlands, for the next thousand years. All that can be determined about the
female worshipper’s dress is that, in contrast to the men’s, it reaches the ground and
seems to cover the feet.
Similar garb is worn by male and female figures on a fragmentary relief at Qaleh-­ye
Tol south of Izeh in the highlands (Hinz 1973, Pl. 17). The figures affect gestures like
those of the Kurangun relief, but damage to the upper portions of the stone has
obscured the details of hands and headgear. The larger, central female has a long
mantle that trails on the ground behind her; the males wear a shorter robe with a
flaring hem. The robe with the flaring hem is not limited to the highlands but also
appears in seal impressions on tablets excavated at Susa. A variant of the robe is worn
by both the worshipper and the deity venerated on the cylinder seal of Tan-­uli the
sukkalmah (great regent at Susa) [Figure 33.2a] which was in use in the early 17th
century BCE (Harper et al.1992: 117, No. 76). This flaring hem will remain a feature
of elite Elamite male garments for the rest of the millennium.
Two enigmatic male figures excavated in a religious deposit at Susa, appear at first
like the many stereotypical offering figures bearing small animals that are known in
both Mesopotamia and Iran in the 2nd millennium BCE (Harper et al.1992: 146,
Nos. 89–90). Their complex headgear (or hair arrangement?), beard and bare upper
torso with stars set them apart, as does their material – gold and silver [Figure 33.2b].
These figures are of further interest because their long skirts are patterned all over
with small dots and the thick fringe of the hem flares outward, rising in the front to
reveal the small bare (?) feet. Parallels with the clothing worn by Untash-­napirisha
both on his stele [Figure 33.3b], and on his fragmentary freestanding sculpture, have
suggested a date in the 12th century BCE (Harper et al. 1992: 147–148). However,
garments with a dotted pattern and a thick, slightly flaring hem occur on clay figu-
rines of both the Sukkalmah and the later Middle Elamite periods. Pittman (2003:
182–191) has suggested that the statuettes be dated in the later part of the Sukkalmah
period (18th–17th centuries BCE), thus placing them close in time to the Kurangun
relief.

LATER 2 ND MILLENN IU M B CE (M ID D L E
ELAMITE, CA. 150 0 – 1 0 0 0 B E )
In the second half of the 2nd millennium BCE, divine garments still featured the tiered
flounces of previous centuries, but human garments appeared more varied, with an
emphasis on fringe and patterned surfaces. Aspects of this can be seen at Kabnak
(modern Haft Tepe), a major center southeast of Susa that flourished in the 14th cen-
tury under the rule of Tepti-­ahar “king of Susa and Anshan”. A well-­cut stone cylin-
der seal belonging to Ginadu, an official (puhu-­teppu) of Inshushinak-­shar-­ilani, the
king of Susa, shows a clearly female worshipper before a seated deity [Figure 33.4a].4
Although the worshipper raises her hands like a Lamma (introductory) goddess, she

678
Figure 33.2  [a] Seal impression of sukkalmah Tan-­Uli from Susa. Louvre, acc. no. Sb 8748
(© RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY); [b] Offering figures of gold from Susa.
Louvre, acc. no. Sb 2759 (front) and Sb 2758 (back)
(© RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY).
 Figure 33.3  Middle Elamite female garbs. [a] Faience (?) figure of
standing female from Choga Zanbil. Louvre, acc. no. Sb 5089 (© Musée du
Louvre, Dist. RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY); [b] Central section of
the stone stele of Untash Napirisha from Susa. Louvre, acc. no. Sb 12
(© RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY); [c] Bronze statue of queen
Napir Asu from Susa. Louvre, acc. no. Sb 2731 © (RMN-Grand
Palais/Art Resource, NY).
 Figure 33.4  [a] Cylinder seal belonging to Ginadu, an official (puhu-­teppu)
(courtesy of Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011, Figure 6); [b] Royal family in the
Relief of Shekaft-­e Salman II (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon; line drawing by
drawing by Erik Smekens, Belgian Archaeological Mission in Iran, courtesy of
Dr. Bruno Overlaet).
 — Tr u dy S . K a wa m i —

is more stout than that divine being usually is, wears a long smooth garment, not the
traditional Mesopotamian-­style flounced robes, and lacks the horned crown typical
of a divinity. The hem of her garment has a pronounced horizontal band with a wide
fringe that flares outward. The back and upper arms of the female worshipper are
covered with a mantle that curves in an arc from the back of the neck to the top of
the band at the hem. The edge of this mantle has a decorated border of regularly
hatched lines that form a ladder-­like pattern distinct from the long fringe of the hem.
It appears to be an early example of the “ladder band,” a decorative characteristic of
later Elamite garments.
A second seal of Ginadu’s, beautifully cut from lapis lazuli and set with gold caps,
shows a male worshipper in a long robe before a seated god wearing the traditional
tiered or flounced robe. The worshipper’s robe has narrow vertical pleats or stripes
and a hem that flares outward in front and back, as does that on an heirloom seal of
the sukkalmah period still in use centuries later at Haft Tepe (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011:
67–68, 159–160; Pls. 7 and 56). Other sealings from Haft Tepe (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi
2011: 79–80, 195; Pls. 9, 82–83) and Susa (Amiet 1996: 139, Figure 19 and 142)
show versions of the same pleated or striped skirt. The account of linen disbursement
on a Haft Tepe tablet may refer to the fabric from which such garments could be
made (Potts 2016: 192).
A craftsman’s workshop at Haft Tepe yielded two female5 heads of clay featur-
ing elaborate hair arrangements with entwined bands, evoking the Metropolitan
Museum male head. The main band on the Haft Tepe heads passes low across the
forehead rather like the hair band of the standing figure on the Marv Dasht beaker,
and both heads have rosettes molded in relief. These in turn suggest the headband of
the seated figure on the Marv Dasht beaker with its series of rounded forms, perhaps
puffs or knots of fabric suggestive of rosettes. The exact significance of the Haft Tepe
headbands is unclear, but undoubtedly, they are a marker of membership in an elite
Elamite female cohort.
The dress of such an elite female may been seen in the garb of Queen Napirasu,
wife of Untash-­Napirisha, “king of Anshan and Susa” in the 14th century BCE and
probably the daughter of the Kassite king Burnaburriash II [Figure 33.3c] (Harper
et al.1992: 132–134, No. 83; Potts 2016: 212). Her life-­size bronze statue exca-
vated at Susa depicts a substantial woman whose columnar dress is notable for its
short sleeves and heavily ornamented skirt. The garment, which reaches the ground
and seems to have obscured her feet – the bottom edge is damaged – has a variety
of patterns. The basic fabric is covered with small dots. The skirt is further embel-
lished with a very wide hem of undulating fringe. A second band of extremely long
fringe wraps around the back of the waist and hips but does not cover the front of the
skirt. This second band calls to mind the curving waist-­encircling fringe on robes of
the figures in the much earlier Marv Dasht beaker. A vertical panel on the front of the
skirt has a wide central strip with narrow triangular borders and a short fringe on the
proper right. A section of the central strip shown horizontally just below Napirasu’s
hands, and a tapered triangular segment of fringe also on the proper right suggests
that this panel is folded over the front of the skirt.
The damaged stone stele of Napirasu’s spouse, Untash-­Napirisha, carved in a style
far different from the sophisticated bronze, provides additional examples of female
garb (Harper et al.1992: 128–129, No. 80). Two women shown on the stele, Queen

682
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Napirasu and the priestess U-tik, probably Untash-­Napirisha’s mother, wear long
voluminous skirts with a wide tier of fringe at the hips and a second at the hem, like
the great bronze. The fabric between the two fringed bands has a faint all-­over pat-
tern of small dots or circles. The hems do not sweep the ground but end above the
ankles. Napirasu’s fringe undulates slightly while U-tik’s fringe is straight. Untash-­
Napirisha’s skirt has an all-­over pattern of small circles and its hem is fringed, though
not a heavily as the skirts of the royal women.
Queen Napirasu’s garment was not unique to her, to judge from two small faience
statuettes from Choga Zanbil (ancient Dur Untash), a remarkable sanctuary site
founded by Untash-­Napirisha, and a 3rd figurine from Susa. The most complete
example depicts a woman wearing a robe with a circle-­patterned body, fringed hem
and vertical front panel with a broad band of fringe [Figure 33.3a]. The similarity to
Queen Napirasu’s robe is notable, though the small figure lacks the second band of
fringe around the waist (Ghirshman 1966: 87; Pl. LXXXII). The vertical front panel
with a “ladder pattern” also appears on the fringed garments of two offering figures
on a stone cylinder seal also from Choga Zanbil (Porada 1970, No. 115; Pl. XI).
A robe with fringe at the waist as well as at the hem is worn by a standing female
figure on a cylinder seal from Choga Zanbil (Porada 1970; Nos. 75, 70; Pl. VII). Her
male companion wears the pointed headgear first seen at Kurangun.
A different type of female royal garment is illustrated on an engraved chalcedony
stone now in the British Museum [Figure 33.5a](Harper et al.1992: 258, Figure 56).
According to its inscription, the stone was a gift from king Shilhak-­Inshushinak
(1150–1120 BCE) to his daughter Bar-­uli who is shown receiving it from his hand.
The princess’s robe has long full sleeves that fall back to her elbows as she raises her
hands toward her enthroned father. The hem flares slightly in front and back like the
hems of the royal women on the Untash-­Napirisha stele, [Figure  33.3b] and there
appears to be a decorative vertical band on the front of the skirt like that on Queen
Napirasu. Her hair is confined by a band or filet around her head. The long flow-
ing sleeves also appear on a series of clay female figurines of the same period from
Susa as well as an incised drawing of a worshipping(?) female (Spycket 1992; M29,
1144–1147, 11153, Pl. 131, and M31, Pl. 135). The garments of these figurines are
also characterized by a uniform all-­over diamond pattern like the robes worn on the
Marv Dasht beaker. Shilhak-­Inshushinak himself wears a short-­sleeved robe whose
fringe flares slightly above his feet. The only monumental representations from his
reign are a royal couple in glazed bricks that were once part of a building. This façade
was badly damaged and few details of the standing male figure can be seen. Enough
remains of the female to determine that her feet peek out in front of her long robe,
the hem of which trails behind her (Harper et al. 1992: 11).
In striking contrast to the long robes worn by males at Susa, two monumental
panels carved in the cliff of the sacred grotto of Shikaft-­e Salman in the Izeh Valley
(Elamite Ayapir) show elite males wearing much shorter garments. Dated to the 12th
century (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 216; Miroschedji 2003: 33; Overlaet 2011: 113) though
carrying the inscription of a much later local official, each panel depicts an elite family,
presumably local, piously moving toward or at least facing the dramatic cave whose
face is covered by a seasonal waterfall. Panel II, the best preserved [­Figure  33.4b]
depicts an adult male and an adult female with a male child between them. The
female has a long skirt with three tiers of fringe whose thick, rounded strands suggest

683
 — Tr u dy S . K a wa m i —

lappets, individually applied strips or ribbons, rather than bands of fine threads. The
second tier of lappets parts in the center of the skirt and tapers to each side. Similar
rows of rounded lappets ornament the skirts on a series of female figurines from Susa,
some of which overlap to form an inverted V-shape on the front of the skirt (Spycket
1992, Pls 132–133). The male in panel II wears a short kilt or skirt that ends above
the knees and has a broad hem that flares outward. The upper torso is covered by a
short-­sleeved shirt that either has a wide V-neck or had a decorative band that forms
a V. The child is dressed like the adult male, though only the adult male wears a
helmet-­like headgear with a pointed visor. The broad solid forms, the bare arms and
folded hands echo both the style and the stance of the figures in the Untash-­Napirisha
stele expanded to fill a large rock face.
Very similar garb with a longer skirt is worn by a standing male figure carved on a
rock face at Naqsh-­e Rustam, near Persepolis [Figure 33.5b]. The relief once included
other figures, but a Sasanian relief has obliterated most of them. The original com-
position has been dated in the 6th–7th century BCE (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 215–216),
but the stylistic parallels with the Shikaft-­e Salman reliefs suggest an earlier date for
the standing male. His pointed headgear has been connected to that worn by Atta-­
hamiti-­Inshushinak, a Neo-­Elamite ruler of the 7th century (Harper et al.1992: 198,
No. 140; Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 216; Miroschedji 1990: 74, n. 27), though a version of
this headgear also appears on the Kurangun relief. A closer parallel complete with the
downward slant of the visor appears in a Middle Elamite incised drawing from Susa
showing a male figure whose headgear, beard and thick flaring hem parallel the rock
relief (Spycket 1992: 19, Pl. 135; Amiet 1966: 444, no. 339). Thus, a 12th century
BCE date is plausible.

FIRST MILLENNIUM (NE O - E ­ L AM ITE

CA. 1000–5 3 9 B CE )
A now-­fragmentary stone stele of the ruler Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak and his queen
provides at least partial documentation of elite human garb in the mid-­first millen-
nium BCE. The date of this ruler who calls himself king of Anshan and Susa and
“enlarger of the realm” is uncertain, as he does not appear in the known king lists.
He has been placed in the mid-­seventh century BCE by Harper et al. (1992: 198–199,
No. 140). Others (Waters 2000: 85–87; Potts 2016: 316) think he may be “Atha-
maita” (530–520 BCE), leader of the 3rd Elamite revolt again Darius the Achaemenid
and one of the rebels shown on the Bisotun relief.
On his relief, Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak wears a short-­sleeved shirt with a narrow
decorative band at the round neckline and on the edge of the sleeves. This garment
in turn is covered by an elaborately decorated shawl-­like textile having several strips
of décor edged by a short fringe. The shirt and the shawl-­like textile are cinched at
the narrow waist by a belt decorated with rosettes separated by double vertical lines.
The preserved upper portion of the skirt has narrow vertical lines, but whether these
represent fringe or pleats is difficult to tell. The rest of the garment is missing; only
the rear portion of the hem remains showing the flaring fringe. The king wears the
headgear with a pointed visor known since the earlier 2nd millennium, though the
visor element is now more pronounced. The headgear is ornamented with a band
bearing rosettes, perhaps gold bracteates. While Álvarez-­Mon (2010a: 217–218) sees

684
Figure 33.5  [a] Engraved chalcedony of Shilhak Inshushinak. British Museum
113886. (Copyright Trustees of the British Museum); [b] Fragmentary bitumen
relief of seated female from Susa (The Spinner) (Louvre, acc. no. Sb 2834.
© RMN-Grand Palais/Art Resource, NY); [c] Elamite rock relief at Naqsh-­e
Rustam (Photo P. 57368. Courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University
of Chicago).
 — Tr u dy S . K a wa m i —

Babylonian parallels in the dress, other antecedents can also be noted. The rosette-­
decorated headband echoes the rosette-­studded headbands of the clay heads from
Haft Tepe, and rosette headbands were worn by apotropaic figures in the reliefs in
the Assyrian capital of Dur Sharrukin (modern Khorsabad) occupied in the last quar-
ter of the 8th century BCE (Moortgat 1969: 37, Figure 43), by royal officials in the
wall painting at 8th century Til Barsip (Parrot 1961: 105, Figure 114), and by the
Assyrian king Assurbanipal (Albenda 2014). The bracelet with adorsed lion heads on
Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak’s right arm has two exact parallels in gold (IM 105702 and
105703) found in the tomb of Banitu/Yaba’ and Ataliya (Queens’ Tomb II) at Nim-
rud dated in the late 8th century BCE (Collon 2008: 111–112, Pl. II). The ­Assyrian –
or Assyrianizing – aspects of Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak’s dress suggest a 7th century
date for the relief rather than a late 6th century date. If Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak
were the Athamaita who rebelled against Darius, it is unlikely that he would portray
himself wearing ornaments associated with a past foreign empire rather than more
current – and local – fashion. Atta-­hamiti-­inshushinak’s queen was also represented
in the relief but too little of her remains to draw any conclusions about her dress.
The only complete representation of a woman excavated at Susa is a fragmentary
molded bitumen plaque generally dated in the 8th–7th century [Figure  33.5b]. It
shows a woman seated on a short animal-­footed stool with her legs crossed under
her (Harper et al.1992: 200, No. 141). She supports a ball of wool in her left hand
(Bier 1995: 1583) while her right hand turns the drop-­spindle that hangs between
her hands. The seated woman wears a long, smooth robe and a mantle that covers
her shoulders, upper arms and back rather like the mantle on the worshipper on the
seal of Ginadu at Haft Tepe [Figure 33.4a]. The wide border of the mantle features a
narrow band of square panels with central circles called a “ladder band” and identi-
fied as a distinctly Elamite element (Álvarez-­Mon 2009: 28). There is no fringe and
the figure does not wear the voluminous fringed or flounced skirt that characterized
earlier elite females. Her compact seated posture and the detail of the sole of her bare
foot evoke the seated posture and bare toes of the seated figure on the Marv Dasht
beaker and to a lesser degree the seated females on the Anshanite seals of the turn of
the 3rd millennium. Her hair is arranged in a complex series of folds around the head
as well as in front of the ears. One smooth band low on her forehead appears to hold
the arrangement in place, much like the bands on the earlier Haft Tepe heads.
Behind the seated woman stands a smooth-­faced attendant with short curly hair
who uses both hands to support a square fan. In front of the seated woman is a table
holding a fish and six round forms, perhaps bread. Visible to the right of the table is
a robe or gown with two tiers of round lappets, presumably the dress of a standing
figure making an offering. The multiple tiers suggest a standing female rather than
male Figure The combination of posture, gesture, dress and material, as well as its
archaeological context, render the work an intriguing anomaly.
It has also been argued that the Assyrian queen depicted in the famous “garden”
relief of Assurbanipal could be Elamite on the basis of her mural crown, her richly
patterned robes and the historical context (Álvarez-­Mon 2009a). This queen had
been identified as Libbali-­sharrat, a powerful woman who had her own stele among
the 140 royal stelae at Assur, the old Assyrian capital north of Nineveh (Svärd 2015:
65–66, 74–80, 88, 208–212; contra Root 2011: 450–453). The mural crown has
no “foreign” connotation in the Assyrian royal tradition and in fact was also worn

686
 — Dress and textiles —

by Naqi’a, mother of Essarhaddon, and hence grandmother of Assurbanipal (Svärd

2015: 79–80). There are few large-­scale representations of Assyrian queens, so it is
difficult to judge how distinctive is the dress shown in the garden relief.
Another source of information about elite Elamite dress are the extensive relief
panels that ornamented the palace of the Assyrian king Assurbanipal (668–627 BCE)
in the North Palace at Nineveh. In room Room S1 the defeat of the Elamites in the
battle of Til Tuba shows the doomed ruler Te-­Umman (648?-645?) wearing a mantle
whose vertical edge bears a band of rosettes and fringe that looks like slightly undu-
lating lappets with rounded ends [Figure  33.6a]. The royal headgear is a rounded
head piece of low profile with a long, feather-­like element hanging from the back
edge. In contrast, the submission of the renegade(?) Elamite Umanaldash (Humban-­
haltash r. 646–645 BCE) shows him wearing a mantle with a simple fringed edge
[Figure 33.6b]. The distinction between the dress of the two Elamites is clear, but its
import is now lost to us.
Elamite dress in the highlands is illustrated by a number of figures carved on the
cliffs of the Izeh Valley (Elamite Ayapir). Most detailed is a relief commissioned by a
local ruler, Hanni (625–585 BCE) on the rock wall of a cul-­de-­sac called Kul-­e Farah
[Figure 33.6c]. There are additional Elamite reliefs on the freestanding boulders of
Kul-­e Farah; Hanni’s relief is numbered I in the series. Hanni’s garment features sev-
eral layers, but the actual construction of the robe or robes is unclear. His arms are
bare and the edges of the short sleeves can be seen beneath the band of heavy fringe,
lappets or perhaps appliqued ribbons. This band is bordered by, or attached to, a
decorative line of small rosettes set in discrete squares. This pattern has been called
a “ladder band” and identified as a distinctive Elamite characteristic (Álvarez-­Mon
2009: 28). It may have its antecedents in the vertical bands noted above in the later
2nd millennium elite garb, and if so may indeed carry a specific meaning. One might
interpret the upper outer garment as a hip-­length shawl secured at the waist by a
belt. The shift in orientation of the lappets below the belt argues against interpreting
the garment as a jacket with the right side overlapping the left. The long skirt has a
hem with a patterned border and wide band of lappets. The hem the curves up in the
center revealing Hanni’s bare feet (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 211) then dips down and
out to either side like the flared hems of the 2nd millennium. Álvarez-­Mon (2009:
28) considers Hanni to be wearing “the highland-­style, segmented, fringed coat” but
this interpretation remains speculative. Hanni’s garment echoes general elite Assyrian
robes with overwrapped mantles and borders of fine wavy fringe (for other inter-
pretations of the garment see Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 211, n.31). Hanni’s garb is also
unlike the other representations in the same cul-­de-­sac where the main figures wear
either short flaring skirts (Kul-­e Farah II) or long, straight skirts with a simple fringed
hem (Kul-­e Farah III). The fringed (or lappeted) upper-­body garment does appear
on the supportive (or Atlantid) figures at Kul-­e Farah III and VI. The now-­damaged
rounded headgear of Hanni does not have the pointed visor noted on other repre-
sentations including that of Atta-­Hamiti-­Inshushinak, and has been compared to the
headgear worn by the Elamite ruler Humban-­haltash in the reliefs of Assurbanipal at
Nineveh [Figure 33.6b].
A much smaller figure behind Hanni identified by an inscription as Shutruru, Han-
ni’s nisikkir (“cupbearer”, actually a lofty position more like a vizier), (Gorris 2014:
261) wears a different garment [Figure 33.6c]. His upper body appears to be clad in

687
Figure 33.6  [a] Depictions of King Teumman in the battle of the Ûla(-)ya
River at Tell Tuba (line-­drawing by Sarre and Herzfeld 1910 Figure 78);
[b] King Umanaldash/Humban-­Haltaš III (line-­drawing by J. Álvarez-­Mon
after Barnett 1976 Pls. 34. 64); [c] Detail of relief of Kul-­e Farah I
(line-­drawing by J. Álvarez-­Mon).
 — Dress and textiles —

a shirt with a V-shaped neckline; the less damaged skirt features three horizontal tiers
of lappets or ribbons each anchored to a double horizontal band. This lappet-­covered
skirt has usually been female garb, though the wearer in this case is surely male.
Perhaps the garment has a ritual or religious association claimed in this instance by
a man. What is remarkable about the Hanni relief is that two of the principal male
figures wear garments quite different from those known elsewhere in Elam.
The chance find of an elite tomb dated between 600 and 575 BCE at Arjan in the
same region has yielded actual remains of an elaborately decorated textile (Álvarez-­
Mon 2010: 30–42; Pls. 11–12). The Arjan textile is a rectangular piece of cotton
woven with a band of what seems to be openwork on one short side that is also
embellished with gold foil appliques. This garment has been called “the elite Elamite
fransenmantel (Álvarez-­Mon 2009: 28–30), though it is not clear that the openwork
formed a fringe, nor how it could have been arranged or worn. Its current state
suggests that it was folded, not wrapped or worn by the deceased. Its original pale
color and the openwork band may have served as a semi-­transparent covering for
another, perhaps differently colored, garment. This textile is also notable as the first
documented example of cotton in Iran. Cotton was domesticated in south India in
the 3rd millennium BCE and introduced into southern Mesopotamia early in the
first millennium BCE. It has been identified with the Babylonian term kitinnû, a rare
and expensive textile (Zawadzki 2006: 25–29) and remains of cotton textiles have
been found in the late 8th century grave of the queens Yaba and Atalia at Nimrud in
northern Mesopotamia (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 207, 234; Toray Industries 1996: 199).
Cotton was known as far west as the Aegean by the 6th century BCE (Barber 1991:
32–33), so it is not surprising that cotton textiles were owned by the elite in Elam
in the same period. It is not clear, however, whether cotton textiles were exported to
Elam and regions farther west, or if the plant was actually grown there. The produc-
tion of cotton cloth differs markedly from that of linen or wool. It may be that the
finished product was exported but not the newer techniques of spinning, dyeing and
weaving (Barber 1991: 33).
The Arjan gold foil appliques have been compared to décor of divine Mesopota-
mian garments discussed by A. Leo Oppenheim, who also saw them as a reflection of
deeper cultural paradigms in the use of repeated geometric shapes (Oppenheim 1949:
189). But the effect of golden bracteates twinkling like sequins in the flickering light
of oil lamps and torches would destroy any illusion of regularized, limited motifs,
evoking instead a glimmering, transcendent surface as immaterial as it was glittering.
The discovery of the use of goethite to also produce a golden sheen on textiles at
Phyrgian Gordion in the 8–7th century BCE (Rose 2016: 19; Rose and Darbyshire
2016: 100) reminds us that other cultures also created golden garments.
Chance finds during road construction near Ram Hormuz, a region where the
rolling lowlands about the Zagros Mountains, have provided several depictions of
female dress in the Neo-­Elamite period. A series of small, seated female figures, each
cast in bronze and fastened to the handle of an offering pan, were excavated from
two tombs of elite females near the village of Joubji (Wicks 2015: 25–30; Shishegar
2015). Each depicts a richly attired woman whose skirt has horizontal tiers of rip-
pling lines; a fish’s body complete with dorsal and caudal fins extends from the rear
of the seated figure as if she were a mermaid. All figures are quite similar, though
none are identical. The best preserved has five tiers of wide undulating lappets, not

689
 — Tr u dy S . K a wa m i —

fine, single-­thread fringe. Each tier of lappets has a distinct narrow band at the top.
Little bare toes peep out from under the flaring hem; the soles of the feet are com-
pletely modeled even though they could not be seen when the figure was riveted to the
handle of the pan. The lappets of these “fish-­ladies” recall those of the females in the
earlier reliefs at Shikaft-­e Salman that faced a dramatic seasonal waterfall. The water-­
like fall of the lappets/fringe suggests female stewardship of water, and by extension
abundance and of course life itself. The association of women and water has a long
tradition in Iran (Overlaet 2011).
It is difficult to tell if the Joubji figures are deities or mortals, though the attached
fish’s body suggests that they are supra-­normal at the very least. One of the women
buried with the figurines had a wide necklace of diamond-­shaped pendants exactly
like that worn by her bronze figurine. This explicit identification of the deceased
with the figurine in turn raises the possibility that Elamite women robed in long
flowing and lappet-­covered or fringed garments may encode in their dress aspects
of their religious status or function (Wicks 2015: 98–99). By extension, the heavily
fringed/lappet-­covered skirts of some Elamite women in the 2nd millennium may also
reflect a religious identity that complemented the political role of the men with which
they were connected. Though these women do not appear in the written documents
known to date, they may have played a vital role in Elamite governance.
A new type of clothing appears in Elamite art in the 7th–6th century BCE, eques-
trian dress. It consists of a fitted shirt and what appears to be trousers or perhaps
closely fitting leggings. It is easily distinguishable from the garb of Assyrian cavalry-
men wearing a short shirt or kilt or what seem to be lamelar mail shirts and gaiters.
Horsemen dressed in this way appear only on cylinder seals where the image is often
paired with a clearly Elamite name (Garrison 2011: 377–379, 382, 384). The dress
does not appear as far as we can tell in the more formal monuments of rulers, but
its presence on the seals is an indication of changing dress, and perhaps population
in Elam. It may be too far a reach to discern steppe influence here, but similar riding
garb has a long history in the steppes and is not depicted earlier in Iran. It may be
that the Central Asian influence noted at the end of the 3rd millennium was repeated
at the end of the Late Elamite period.
A final aspect of Elamite textiles to consider is negative  – the absence of the
checker pattern and related geometric motifs so popular elsewhere the Near East in
the first millennium BCE. The pattern can be seen on textile representations from
Hasanlu in northwestern Iran (Muscarella1980: 134–135, No. 254); to garments
worn by officials in the 8th century BCE Assyrian wall paintings at Til Barsip, Syria
(Parrot 1961: 101), and actual textile fragments from Megaron 3 at Gordion (Rose
and Darbyshire 2016: 102). The taste for checkered patterns extended to painted
ceramics at Sialk, Necropolis B (Ghirshman 1939: frontispiece, Pls. X, -XI, XIII–
XV, LIV, LXIV, LXVII, LXXX–LXXXVIII) and ceiling tiles at Baba Jan (Bier 1995:
1585) in western Iran, and in Phrygian Anatolia to ceramics (Rose and Darbyshire
2016: 104, 106, 110–112, 124–125), inlaid wood furniture in Tumulus MM at Gor-
dion (Rose and Darbyshire 2016: 74), pebble floors in Megaron 2 at Gordion (Rose
and Darbyshire 2016: 103) and even tomb facades at Midas City). The absence
of the checker pattern in Elamite dress and textiles may be the result of the ran-
dom nature of archaeological discovery, but in view of its popularity elsewhere, its
absence in Elam is notable.

690
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ACHAEMENID PERIO D (5 3 9 – 3 3 0 B CE )
While the rise of Cyrus the Great in the middle of the sixth century BCE may have
changed the political landscape of Elam, it did not necessarily change dress. The
ethnicity of Cyrus himself is unclear, and his name has been considered Elamite
(Waters 2011). If we believe the Nabonidus Chronicle, Cyrus’ son Cambyses wore
an “Elamite” garment at his investiture as ruler of Babylon. Whether this simply
meant a non-­Babylonian garment, or a garment identified with Elam in general or
its mountainous highlands is unclear. This garment has been identified with the so-­
called Elamite fransenmantel (Álvarez-­Mon 2009: 26). With no clear description of
Cambyses’ garment, the identification remains hypothetical.
It is not until the building programs undertaken by Darius the Achaemenid (r.
522–486 BCE), that we can see clearly what clothing the elites are wearing. The
long-­sleeved finely textured robes with their narrow pleats from both Persepolis and
Susa, in stone, glazed brick and on seals, became identifiable “Persian” dress through-
out the Achaemenid Empire (Dusinberre 2003: 87–88, 145–149; McFerrin 2017).
Nothing of the Elamite traditions of elite garb can be seen, no fringes or lappets,
no wrapped shawls nor flaring hems, no headgear with pointed visors. Only the
guardian figure on Gate R at Pasargadae, a unique image in Achaemenid art, refers
to Elamite traditions of dress with the robe whose vertical edge is ornamented with
a border of rosettes and fine fringe (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 221–225). This may be the
final depiction of the fransenmantel.

CONCLU S IO N
Distinctly Elamite garments are difficult to identify in the 3rd millennium BCE when
Mesopotamian fashions, along with Mesopotamian political and military power,
were paramount. The dress of both deities and rulers followed Mesopotamian
forms. Additional influence from the BMAC of Central Asia at the end of the 3rd
millennium can be seen in the voluminous female garments on the Marv Dasht bea-
ker and in subsequent Anshanite glyptic art. In the first half of the 2nd millennium,
Elamite male garb was a long smooth robe with a flaring hem that did not cover the
feet and distinct headgear featuring a pronounced pointed visor. This was to be the
basic elite dress for the next thousand years. Some male figures, not clearly mortal
or divine, wore patterned and fringed robes. Female garb featured long full garments
whose skirts often trailed behind them. Divine garments usually followed the Mes-
opotamian model. In the second half of the millennium the robes of elite women
bore multiple tiers of fringe or lappets that echoed divine dress, blurring somewhat
the distinction between the two. Male garments whether short or long had a pro-
nounced flare at the hem. By the earlier first millennium, the distinction between
elite male and female dress changed with heavily fringed or flounced shirts worn
on occasion by both and elite men wearing a shawl-­like garment with a broad band
of fringe forming a V-shape neckline. The Assyrian images depictions of Elamite
rulers do not depict these shawls but do show differing headgear and garments of
captured Elamite rulers. The striking changes in Elamite garb in the first millennium
BCE suggest changes in Elamite religious, social and political structures that are as
yet unclear to us.

691
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NOTE S
1 I am indebted to Javier Álvarez-­Mon for inviting me to explore this fascinating topic, and to
Yasmina Wicks for her generous insights. I have also benefitted from the helpful advice and
comments of Carol Bier, Wouter Henkelman, Ali-­Reza Khounani, Judith Lerner, Dan Potts
and Matthew Waters. Any errors, of course, are all my own.
2 The application of a classical Greek word to an Elamite garment is not appropriate, and this
term will not be used here.
3 For a second millennium BCE royal request specifying removable ruffles on a garment, see
Bier 1995: 1581.
4 For the archaeological context of the seal, the significance of the title and the uncertainty of
the owner’s gender, see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011a.
5 One head has been called male (Negahban 1991: 37; Álvarez-­Mon 2005: 116), but the com-
plicated hair arrangement and the choker necklace are female characteristics.

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 PART VII

ELAMITE SOCIETY
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CUNEIFORM CULTURE AND

SCIENCE, CALENDARS, AND
METROLOGY IN ELAM

Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone1

T he word “culture” is commonly used as either a synonym for “civilization” or

in reference to the “shared education” of a specific segment of society, the liter-
ate people. In an inspiring book like The Oxford Handbook of Cuneiform Culture
(Radner and Robson 2011), it is used in both senses, while the syntagm “cuneiform
culture” represents an umbrella term for Sumerian, Assyrian, Babylonian, and so on
textual communities (Radner and Robson 2011: xxvii, following Stock 1990: 23
in defining textual communities as “microsocieties organized around the common
understanding of a script”). While it would be interesting to discuss the extent to
which individuals from different social classes and time periods would have identified
and labeled themselves as “Elamite” in Susa and other Elamite areas, in what follows
we will be concerned with the second meaning, that is, the one pointing to cuneiform
literacy in Elam and especially to literacy in the Elamite language.
There are, obviously, many more meanings for the word “culture”. The Concise
Oxford English Dictionary (11th edition in digital format) in the first place preferred
the idea of “culture” as “arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achieve-
ment”. Embedded in the word “culture” is the notion of both something requiring
a great and continuative effort, just like a sport practised at competitive levels, and
of something that is highly regarded. Again, it would be fascinating to know what
was esteemed as “cultural” in an ancient society, because “culture” is a cultural con-
cept, mediated by society and changed through time and, inevitably, culture (here in
the sense of civilization). The “intellectual” challenges that the Sumerian king Shulgi
claimed to have mastered (scribal skills, mathematical understanding, speaking dif-
ferent languages, interpretation of entrails, and playing musical instruments) may be
an example of what was considered as culture in his time (Frahm 2011: 511). This
kind of terminological reflection would be useful also for other modern balkanizing
categories like “literature”, “art”, “religion”, “magic”, and “science” (also Radner
and Robson 2011: xxvii), but the difficulties of such a reflection become apparent
when one considers that we do not even know the Akkadian words, not to speak of
the Elamite ones, used to refer to these categories which, anyway, respond to a com-
mon human need for schematization and classification.

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 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

ELAMITE CUNEIF O RM CU LTU RE

Several languages were written and spoken in ancient Elam; we know of at least
Sumerian, Akkadian, Elamite, and, later, Old Persian. But can we speak of an Elamite
cuneiform culture encompassing these different languages, that is, of a shared edu-
cation of the literate segment of Elamite society? In the opposite scenario, as also
happens, languages can create walls between their different speakers.
In the Handbook of Cuneiform Culture, the term “Elam” and the adjective
“Elamite” occur a few times, mainly in passages related to the Elamite campaigns of
the Neo-­Assyrian kings, while the sites of Susa and Haft Tappeh are mentioned sev-
eral times, even if their textual evidence has not always been properly published. This
shows that there was actually a cuneiform culture in Susiana, but because most of this
textual evidence is in Akkadian, there is some unease today in labelling it “Elamite”.
The cuneiform culture of Susiana could be symbolically represented by a “clay
plaque” (ca. 10 cm in diameter) found at Haft Tappeh and decorated with a com-
posite being interpreted as an Elamite deity (Negahban 1994: 36 and 41, Figure 14).
Drawing on clay did not represent an art in itself: being found close to the “artist’s
workshop”, the “clay plaque” was perhaps a draft for some art piece (note that the
size is similar to the Haft Tappeh bronze plaque, measuring 10 × 7.5 cm according
to Negahban 1990: 138). However, it seems to be rather the doodle of a scribe on
a reused lump of clay (“tablets and clay for tablet making” were found in the same
trench according to Negahban 1994: 32); in this case it would be an interesting
byproduct of the cuneiform culture, comparable to other nice examples from Meso-
potamia (Taylor 2011: 19).
Looking at the evidence from Mesopotamia, proofs of an Elamite cuneiform cul-
ture are the colophon of the Middle Babylonian tablet UM 29–15–393:106 from
Nippur published in Rutz 2006 (GABA.[R]I gišLI.U5 MÙŠ.ŠÉŠki “C[op]y of a writing
board from Susa”), the expert in Enuma Anu Enlil and extispicy coming all the way
from Elam in the Neo-­Assryrian tablet SAA 10 160:rev.1–3 (Fincke 2003–2004: 118;
on Enuma Anu Enlil in Susa, see Scheil 1917b and Rochberg-­Halton 1988: 271), the
fragment of Syllabary A  apparently written using palaeographically Elamite signs
(Hallock 1949, Text A, which was not a “trophy of the Elamite wars of Ashurbani-
pal” but likely a product of scholarly exchange), and the colophon of the Seleucid
copy AO 6451:46–50 of an Akkadian ritual text (transliterated in Linssen 2004:
175–176; see also Zadok 2011: 123, n. 3) which Nabopolassar, “king of the Seal-
and”, carried off from Uruk (on further Sealand connections with Elam, see George
2013: 139–141, to be fully exploited in future scholarship).
As is well known, the large majority of Elamite texts are royal inscriptions and
administrative documents. These are broad categories in which different typologies
of text, requiring different textual skills, are encompassed. For example, among royal
inscriptions, labels and ownership inscriptions were made following pre-­established
models, while longer texts like the Bisotun inscription are literary in language and
composition. However, it is difficult to find strictly literary compositions in the extant
Elamite documentation.
Besides royal inscriptions and administrative tablets, there are a limited number
of other textual typologies, each represented by very few documents. A few centu-
ries before and after 2000 BCE, we have a treaty (EKI 2, the treaty of Naram-­Sin;

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see also Hinz 1967), a tablet considered Elamite by Scheil found at Tello/Girsu (AO
4325 = Hinz and Koch 1987, Inc. 70 J, published only in cuneiform copy in Cros
1910: 212), and a growing corpus of pseudo-­Elamite incantations (e.g. Van Dijk
et al. 1985, no. 4:1–2, no. 5:15–22, and no. 18; provisional list in Cunningham 1997:
156–159; M. Krebernik is preparing an updated catalogue).
For the rest of the 2nd millennium, on the front of thousands of inscribed bricks,
plus some more articulated royal inscriptions on other text carriers like statues, ste-
lae, or bronze artefacts (see Malbran-­Labat, Chapter  23 in this volume), we have
only a few dedicatory inscriptions (a glazed terracotta knob [TZ 57], and a mace
head [TZ 58/160]), and ownership labels (several mace heads [TZ 58], some bronze
items [TZ 59], and many wall knobs [TZ 60]) from Chogha Zanbil, the dedicatory
inscription on the agate of Kutir-­Nahunte (Lambert 1970), and the bead that Shilhak-­
Inshushinak gave to his daughter Par-­Uli (British Museum ME 113886, published
in Sollberger 1965; see also Tavernier 2016: 281–282). All this evidence is, again,
strictly related to the king. Three clay beads or “olives” (TZ 61) found among the
incinerated remains of tomb II in the Palais-­hypogée at Chogha Zanbil are probably
labels pertaining to the buried individuals, surely members of the royal family or
the elite.
The 1st millennium is slightly richer in textual typologies: we know of eight legal
tablets (MDP 11 301–307 and Scheil 1928: 40–42, no. 3, “Bon plaisir royal”) and
a fragmentary list of people from Susa (MDP 11 299), a royal grant found at Perse-
polis (the Persepolis bronze plaque; see Basello 2013 with further references), a dif-
ficult text on a vase fragment (Scheil 1927: 43, “Vers l’écriture nucléiforme”); ca. 30
less-­understood tablets are letters of non-­administrative character (Nin 1–25; Louvre
Sb 13080 and Sb 13081 [Lambert 1977]; MDP 36 3; British Museum BM 62783
[Walker 1980: 80, Figure  4], probably also Arg. 1–3), while many administrative
texts are in the form of letter orders (including perhaps the letter written on a vase
fragment found at Tappeh Hosseyniyeh in the Ramhormoz plain and published in
Rezayi-­Sadr 2015). All these texts are indeed proof of the existence of a cuneiform
culture, because they could not exist without schools and scribes, and the mere exis-
tence of scribes, writing in a mutually intelligible way and using a shared repertory
of formulae, presupposes the existence of a literate social group. Notwithstanding
this, it seems that this group did not express itself in those ways which are usual for
literate people, that is, writing stories (often called myths but not far from contempo-
rary fiction when it becomes so influential as to be a “cult”), treatises, and producing
samples of their studies, that is, exercises and speculations. The only exceptions are,
perhaps, two Old Elamite non-­administrative tablets, a hemerology and an omen text
dated to the Neo-­Elamite period, all from Susa.

T WO OLD ELAMITE TAB L E TS (L O U VRE S B

11249 AND S B 1 1 2 5 0 )
Two stray tablets from Susa, dated to the last quarter of the 3rd millennium accord-
ing to their palaeography, were published by Lambert (1974, with cuneiform copy).
One of them (Louvre Sb 11249) has especially received scholarly attention (text
and translation of the six first lines in Grillot-­Susini 1987: 49; text, translation, and
commentary in Tavernier 2011: 338–340). It represents a piece of poetry according

699
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

to Hinz and Koch (1987: 473, s.v. ki-­ ki-­

in) and for others, including Tavernier
(2011: 338), a school tablet; recently M. Krebernik has suggested that it is an incan-
tation text. The language is Elamite, but the writing is Old Akkadian, defined as
“magnifique” by Lambert (1974: 3). This assessment is not peculiar to the tablet in
question: similar aesthetic appreciations have been expressed for the Old Akkadian
writing in general (Gelb 1961: 13, quoted also in Hasselbach 2005: 27). R. Hassel-
bach explained the reasons for this aesthetic perception: the writing “is regular in
form, pays much attention to detail, and is remarkably uniform throughout the Sar-
gonic empire”; this uniformity reflects “the general efforts of the Sargonic dynasty to
centralize the political and economic system” (Hasselbach 2005: 27). As an example,
one can look at the sign in on Sb 11249 (photo of the obverse published in Basello
2012b: 71, Figure 3.22), made by three rows (or better, columns, as the tablet was
probably kept 90 degrees clockwise at that time) of 13 angular wedges each. In sum,
three times 13 equals 39, plus four more strokes for the rest of the sign: so the wrist
of the scribe moved swiftly up and down 43 times to impress this sign. There was
probably an ideal balance between written and blank spaces on the surface of the
tablet, and the scribe could repeat ad libitum wedges that were already repeated. This
repetition did not have a distinctive function but probably responded to an aesthetic
aim. It is attested in some other signs on the tablet and also on Old Akkadian admin-
istrative tablets from Eshnunna. Compare, for example, the exemplars of in in MAD
1 275:3 and 6 (Oriental Institute Museum A 7772; see also CDLI, http://cdli.ucla.
edu/search/archival_view.php?ObjectID=P215104, with photo) from the antiquarian
market (Gelb 1952: xi): the number of the angular wedges in each row is ca. 12,
more or less like in the Elamite tablet. This and other similarities in palaeographical
details suggest that there was a scribal continuity between Susa and Eshnunna in the
Old Akkadian period. Moreover, administrative tablets in Old Akkadian were also
found in Susa (Legrain 1913) and show the same kind of writing. In these tablets,
several names with a repeated syllable and therefore probably Elamite are attested
(Desset 2012: 56). In any case, the connection with Eshnunna seems to be relevant,
since an individual apparently bearing an Elamite personal name (ku-­ru-­za), son of
another individual with an Elamite name (še-­il8-ha) (Zadok 1994: 39), is attested in
an Old Akkadian rectangular school tablet from the Oriental Institute excavations
(TA 1931, 9 = MAD 1 85), suggesting that he was a young Elamite scribe who was
learning cuneiform there. Kuruza may be compared to MUNUSku-­ri-­za-­am in MDP 4
4:40 (with cuneiform copy) = MDP 22 73:30 (Zadok 1984: 24, no. 118, s.v. KURI);
by chance, this tablet is an act of sale regarding an orchard sold by an individual
named si/ší-­il-­ha (line 2) and the woman Kurizam is a witness (the last one in the list).
The other tablet (Louvre Sb 11250) is palaeographically dated by Lambert to the
Ur III period, that is, about a century later than Sb 11249. Several verbal forms in
the 1st person singular occur in the text, suggesting again a school text, even if M.
Krebernik’s suggestion that it could be an incantation seems quite attractive.

THE ELAMITE HE M E RO L O G Y
A simple hemerological tablet was found at Susa (Scheil 1925: 157–158, “XIV.
Hémérologie élamite”; no museum number is given). The text, with small differences
with respect to Scheil, is included also in Livingstone 2013: 83–98, “e”. Each line

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 — Cuneiform culture and science —

corresponds to one of the 12 months and for each month a list of favourable days is
given (Tavernier 2010: 214–215). The left part of the tablet is broken so that we do
not know if the month-­names were written logographically according to Mesopota-
mian tradition or in some other way. The sign MAŠ “half” occurs two times (lines 7
and 10) to mark a day as favourable only at midday (Livingstone 2013: 83). A par-
tially damaged colophon is added at the end of the text confirming that it is in the
Elamite language. Thanks to the comparative tables with the “Lists of Lucky Days”
in Livingstone 2013: 83–98, one can easily ascertain that there are no extant Meso-
potamian comparisons for the choice of favourable days which, therefore, seems to
be peculiar to Susa. The hemerology is dated on palaeographic grounds to the late
Neo-­Elamite period.

T H E ELAMITE OMEN TABL E T (L O U VRE A  1 2 8 0 1 )

An omen tablet (Louvre A 12801) was found at Susa during Mecquenem’s excava-
tions and later published by Scheil in a paper entitled “Dèchiffrement d’un document
anzanite relatif aux présages” (Scheil 1917a). Even if Scheil wrote about an “Anza-
nite” document, it is written in the language we now call Elamite (see Basello 2004:
2–11 and Lindner 2015). The tablet measures ca. 16 × 10 cm and shows a perfect
plano-­convex shape (the reverse is convex); the lower 3rd of the obverse is unfortu-
nately lost, while the reverse is nearly completely effaced. The quality of the cunei-
form writing is remarkable: at first glance it is difficult to read because the signs are
very close to one another, but after some eye training it becomes easier because the
wedges were clearly impressed with a sharp vertex, without hesitation by the hand of
the scribe. Miniature writing in itself is a clue of the learned character of the tablet.
From a palaeographic point of view, the signs are Neo-­Elamite and some of them
present original developments.
Scheil’s transliteration, except for some minor oversights (as observed in a colla-
tion of the tablet by the author in 2013), is still excellent, even if his remarks and
the translation need to be updated. The content seems to be a composite text of
omina. It is divided into five extant sections through horizontal lines. Sections 2–3
on the obverse (“Face §2” and “Face §3” in Scheil 1917a), for a total of 14 lines
(unfortunately the section 3 is mostly damaged), have an Akkadian counterpart in the
Mesopotamian omen series Iqqur īpuš A §§71–72 (Labat 1965a) and are probably
a translation from the Akkadian (Tavernier 2010: 213–214). The correspondence
was already recognized by Scheil who referred to the Nineveh tablets K. 2278 and K.
7944 as in Virolleaud 1903, Sin, no. XXXII-XXXVII (Scheil 1917a: 30 and also 43;
probably to be corrected in K. 2878:22–46 published in cuneiform copy in Virolleaud
1908, Sin, no. XXIV; cf. also the sources for §§71–72 in Labat 1965a: 47 and the
tablet index in Reiner 1998), quoting their text in his extensive commentary. This
non-­coterminous Elamite-­Akkadian bilingual text has still to be fully exploited for
the understanding of Elamite grammar and lexicon. Other sections may be genuinely
Elamite, as can be shown by two phonological writings of possibly Elamite month-­
names on the reverse (§2:10: ITI ANši-­mut-­na GAM ITI šu-­ni?-na; in Scheil’s translit-
eration, the question mark after šu can be removed), while elsewhere the Babylonian
standard (abbreviated) logograms for the months are used. The scribe, whose Elamite
name, Atekitin, is written in the colophon on the left edge, created something new,

701
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

combining scraps from different sources and translating at least some of them from
Akkadian.
The omen tablet is considered “the only literary text in Elamite” (Reiner 1969:
63) “so far identified” (Walker 1980: 76), but I would instead prefer to qualify it as
“learned”, or even “technical” text (considering the professional use of omina). These
same labels could also be applied to the two Old Elamite non-­administrative tablets
and the Neo-­Elamite hemerology.
A “literary commentary or an omen text” in two columns has been tentatively
identified by C. Walker on an Elamite tablet fragment now in the British Museum
(BM 136847), coming possibly from Susa (Walker 1980: 76, photos on Pls. Ib and
IIb, and copy on p. 7, Figure 3). On palaeographical grounds, Walker dated it to the
Middle Elamite period. The name of Shilhak-­Inshushinak occurs two times on the
obverse.

SC H OOL AND LEARNED TE X TS IN AKKAD IAN

LANGUAGE FRO M E L AM
Presently, this is the sum of our scant evidence for a learned production in the Elamite
language. We face the usual dilemma of the epigraphist or archaeologist who has
found a unique piece: does it represent the tip of an iceberg or a remarkable excep-
tion? There is some additional evidence which, coming from Susa and Susiana, can be
regarded as Elamite in a cultural sense. Yet because it is written in the Sumerian and
especially the Akkadian language, and the Elamite/Akkadian language duality is pre-
sumed to have corresponded to an ethnic duality, it has often been treated separately.
The following are just a few examples (cf. a similar list in Malbran-­Labat 1995:
218, n. 4, and the detailed treatments in Lackenbacher 1998 and Tavernier 2010:
210–212):

• the prism fragments of the so-­called Sumerian king list found at Susa, pertain-
ing to at least two different exemplars (Scheil 1934: 159). The employment of
a prism as text carrier speaks for the cultural value of this document. It is not
a simple copy, since some passages were intentionally omitted. For example,
this one mentioning (in the other recensions) the defeat of Elam by Enmepara-
gesi (lines 83–86): en-­me-­para10-ge-­si | lú ma-­da elamki-­ma | geštukul-­bé íb-­ta-­an-­
ḫaš!(GAM)<-a> | lugal-­àm “Enmeparagêsi, the one <who> broke the weapons
of the land of Elam, became king” (Marchesi 2010: 239, historical note no. 2;
see also n. 46). Clearly this omission reflects a certain parochialism: the defeat
brought shame upon the people of Susa. Moreover, the text suggests that Susa
was already part of, or connected with, Elam at that time;
• a group of exercise tablets from Susa Ville Royale Chantier B dated to the begin-
ning of the Sukkalmah period (ca. 1800 BCE) and published by Tanret and De
Graef (2010; first published in Tanret 1986). As an example, one can mention
a multiplication tablet of 30 on a lentil (TS.B.115 = National Museum of Iran
BK 396; Tanret and De Graef 2010: 244, no. 24, photo on p. 255, Pl. 5) from
Chantier B V ancien (“to be dated at the beginning of the Sukkalmaḫ period, ca.
1850 to 1775 bce” according to Tanret and De Graef 2010: 230) and measuring
8.5 cm in diameter (Tanret 1986: 147; Tanret and De Graef 2010: 227, table).

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 — Cuneiform culture and science —

According to the description by Tanret and De Graef, it is a “complete lentil, lin-

eated” with “[a] number of multiplicators . . . left out (11, 13, 14, 17, 19)” repre-
senting a “ ‘Table’ of 30 (or 1/2 in sexagesimal) ending with its square 302 = 900,
written 15 (x 60)”. According to Tanret (1986: 147), “[c]’est la première tablette
de Suse appartenant à ce type spécifique” (cf. the multiplication tablets MDP 27
61 and MDP 34 4) and it is mentioned also in Robson 2008: 156, where it is
classified as “Type III tablet: verbose multiplication table” (Robson 2008: 331,
table B.17), just like MDP 27 61 (Robson 2008: 330);
• in the same group of exercise texts, there is also a fragmentary clay cylinder
with a thematic list of domesticated animals (Tanret and De Graef 2010, no.
23; mentioned also in Robson 2008: 156). The extant text “does not seem to
have parallel elsewhere. It may be a local Susa variant or a copy of a now lost
Ur [= ur5-ra = ḫubullu] III list” (Tanret and De Graef 2010: 249; tablet IV of Old
Babylonian ur5-ra =  ḫubullu according to Robson 2008: 360, n. 17; tablet XIII
in Tanret 1986: 145); it could therefore be further proof of the autonomy of the
Susa scribal tradition (cf. Civil 1987: 140);
• the Old Babylonian school texts from Susa published by Dossin in MDP 18
1–66 (Dossin 1927: 1–22) and by Van der Meer (1935) in MDP 27. The tab-
lets in MDP 18 are published only in cuneiform copy; some texts were already
published by Scheil (see the “Avant-­propos” by Scheil in Dossin 1927: I-II). The
tablets in MDP 27 were found in 1934–1935 excavations in Ville Royale; this
piece of information (reported also in Robson 2008: 331, asterisked footnote)
does not come from Van der Meer 1935 but, fortunately, from Bruins and Rutten
1961: 1. Among fragments of lexical lists and lentils with exercises (see also the
“proverbs” in Alster 1997: 335–337 [text edition] and 480 [comments]), one can
also find 11 mathematical tablets (MDP 18 14; MDP 27 59, 60–61, 291–297; list
according to Robson 2008: 330–331, Table B.17);
• a couple of fragmentary school lentils (M-498 and M-924) from Tall-­e Malyan,
attesting the existence of a school also in the east. They are briefly mentioned
in Stolper 1982: 57, n. 52, with references to Stolper 1976: 90 (M-498) and
95 (M-924), and also in Lackenbacher 1998: 348. M-498 is available on CDLI
(http://cdli.ucla.edu/search/archival_view_new.php?ObjectID=P257472, with a
photo);
• 26 Old Babylonian mathematical school tablets published by Bruins and Rutten
(1961; reviewed in Von Soden 1964) in MDP 34 and dated to the end of the
Babylon I dynasty (Bruins and Rutten 1961: 1). They were found in Susa Ville
Royale together with the other school texts previously published by Van der
Meer in MDP 27 (Bruins and Rutten 1961: 1). MDP 34 16, 9, 7, 8, 19, 13, and 1
are analyzed also in Høyrup 2002. MDP 34 2 and 4 are presented (with photos)
by M.W. Stolper in Harper et al. 1992: 276–278, nos. 194–195. These tablets are
mentioned also in Robson 2008: 156; an updated bibliography is available in
Robson 1999: 317 (after Robson 2008: 331, note to Table B.17). The mathemat-
ical problems were solved in previously unknown ways; sometimes, a procedure
was qualified by the syntagm kiâm Akkadî “in the Akkadian way” (Bruins and
Rutten 1961: 2; example of usage in a text: MDP 34 9:10 and 18), so the dis-
tinction between local (Elamite or Susian) and Mesopotamian tradition was clear
and both were known in Susa;

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• two stray mathematical tablets from Susa, published in Scheil 1938: 92–103, and
discussed also in Neugebauer and Sachs’s Mathematical Cuneiform Texts (Neu-
gebauer and Sachs 1945: 6–10);
• 11 tablets (Steve et al. 1980: 123, TS.XII.1–12; TS.XII.9–10 are parts of the same
tablet) hidden under a flat stone in the northern part of Ville Royale A (level XII),
published by Labat (1974) in MDP 57 and concerning magic, extispicy, divina-
tion, physiognomy, medicine, and teratology. These texts share some peculiar
orthographic features (useful list in Rutz 2006: 70–71) which clearly distinguish
them from the Mesopotamian writing tradition. In some of them “king” is writ-
ten LUGAL, in others 3600 (Labat 1974: 5–6; 3600 is attested in MDP 57 4, 7,
10, and 11), a number that was read šār in Akkadian and was therefore a quasi-­
homophone of šarru “king”. Marginally, it should be noted that the translitera-
tion EŠŠANA for 3600 is obsolete: according to Borger 2004: 434, no. 837, the
correct name of the sign is IŠŠEBU; the understanding of this sign as 3600 šar
goes back to Scheil (1915; also Scheil 1932: 20), but his remarks had been forgot-
ten, so they were unknown to Labat (1965b) and, therefore, suggested ex novo
by Nougayrol (1972); Glassner 1991: 120, n. 100 later recalled these references,
as did Rutz 2006: 84, comment to line 12;
• some fragments of proper literary texts from Susa like The Palm and the Tamarisk
and The Introduction of Grain to Sumer (both in Sumerian) published in Cavi-
gneaux 2003: 53–60 (mentioned also in Potts 2012: 52; see also the texts refer-
enced in Cavigneaux 2003: 53, n. 1 and the list in Malayeri 2013: 374, §6.5);
• the surface find of an omen text at Chogha Pahn West, 23 km east of Susa, dated
after the middle of the 2nd millennium BCE, published by Biggs and Stolper
(1983);
• seven funerary tablets found in the access pit of a tomb to the east of Darius’
Palace in Susa (Tavernier 2013 with further references) and dated around the
middle of the 2nd millennium BCE;
• at least 26 tablets with lexical lists, mathematical problems (mentioned in Robson
2008: 155–156; listed in Robson 2008: 330, Table B.17), and an extispicy text
(HT 152 published in Daneshmand 2004; see also Negahban 1991: 105–106, and
Pl. 55, no. 473; also color plate  4B) found at Haft Tappeh during Negahban’s
excavations (the find-­spot is not clear according to Robson 2008: 156) and dated
around 1400 BCE. Recognition of the importance of Haft Tappeh as a school and
scribal centre is growing year after year thanks to the discoveries of the mission
led by B. Mofidi-­Nasrabadi. A room which was probably a scriptorium or, at least,
a place for clay tablet manufacturing with a small channel of water in the floor
was recently found (Mofidi Nasrabadi 2012). The grave of a puhu teppu, maybe
its vice-­supervisor, was also discovered (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011). The origin of
the settlement is now to be shifted back in time, while the end of the site may be
connected to a mysterious heap of ca. 300 dead bodies (149 skulls + ca. 100~150
further skeletons; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2014: 73–75 and Pl. 31 = p. 163, Photo 2).

AKKADIAN AND E L AM ITE

The above-­listed “Akkadian” evidence from Susa complements the scarce evidence
in the Elamite language. They are two faces of the same coin. Akkadian was part of

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 — Cuneiform culture and science —

the scribal curriculum and was probably taught to Elamite-­speaking students. Once
they learned it, Akkadian cuneiform writing would have been easily applied to their
mother tongue, but Akkadian still had to be used in most circumstances and was the
preferred language for many textual typologies, at least in the first half of the 2nd
millennium BCE (De Graef 2013: 273–274).
It is usually said that Humpan-­u-­mena (hyphenation of the name according to
J. Tavernier) and Untash-­Napirisha started a process of “Elamitization” of Susiana,
forcing the use of Elamite language instead of Akkadian (e.g. Vallat 1998a: 307; cf.
also the complementary process of Akkadianization of Susiana in the first half of the
2nd millennium according to, e.g., Lambert 1991). However, in a royal inscription of
Untash-­Napirisha from Chogha Zanbil (TZ 31), one can read:

i hil(i) Abullu Rabitu hiš-­e

This gate, Great Gate (is) its name (TZ 31:5).

“Gate” is written hil(i) the first time, in Elamite, and abullu the second time, in Akka-
dian. Like Steve (1967: 65), I consider the syntagm Abullu Rabitu as an apposition to
hil(i). The meaning of hil(i) “gate” seems to be confirmed by the Achaemenid inscrip-
tion XSd in which e-­el in Elamite (with e pointing to an initial vowel, not granted
by the VC sign el alone) and KÁ in Babylonian are qualified by a deictic pointing to
the building (actually a gate) where the inscription was placed. The name of the gate
in TZ 31 is actually in Akkadian. Other exemplars of the inscriptions have different
names for different gates: Abul Mīšari “Gate of Justice” from Akkadian mīšaru “jus-
tice”, Abul ki-­ša-­a?-ti “Gate of the Groves” (Abul Kišāti in Henkelman 2008: 441, n.
1023 and p. 450, n. 1044) from Akkadian qištu “grove” (corresponding to husa in
Elamite, a garden with trees) or, in my opinion, from kiššatu “totality, world”; Abul
Šarri “Gate of the King” (with the 3600 logogram) (Steve 1967: 63, “Var.”, discussed
on p. 65; see also Abullu Šaqutu “Sublime Gate” in TZ 32:6 and Abul Kinūni “Gate
of the Kiln” from kinūnu “kiln (for firing bricks)” in TZ 36:2 and TZ 37:3). TZ
31, together with the “twin” TZ 32, must have been an important inscription: it is
quite long, in two frames, on large bricks. Eighteen exemplars either of TZ 31 or TZ
32 were reported as coming from the only extant external gate of Chogha Zanbil,
according to Steve (1967: 60), who wrote also that the name is Abullu Rabitu in five
exemplars; it is not explicitly said which name the other exemplars bore or if it was
lacking or damaged. Therefore, it is not possible to assess the truth of Steve’s hypoth-
esis that more than one name was given to each of the two entrances that form the
gate. TZ 31 is thematically similar to DPf, one of the Achaemenid inscriptions on the
southern platform wall at Persepolis (see Filippone 2012; the inscription is translated,
for example, in Romagnuolo 2012).
Why are the names of the gates in Akkadian even in an Elamite text? Evidently,
Akkadian was the language that one had to use to give a name to a gate, perhaps
because an Akkadian name was considered more prestigious. Curses were also often
written in Akkadian, even in Elamite text. In the lower frame of TZ 32 (lines 8–10),
the curse against the would-­be destroyer of the Sian-­kuk, the ceremonial complex of
Chogha Zanbil, is in Akkadian, as is the curse (MDP 11 89) on the statue of Untash-­
Napirisha. Another Akkadian curse is in IRS 32, one of the monolingual Akkadian
bricks of Untash-­Napirisha. Maybe they were specifically addressed to a would-­be

705
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

Mesopotamian invader of Akkadian mother-­tongue. However, there are also Elamite

curses, for example, in the lower frame of TZ 31 (corresponding to the Akkadian
curse in TZ 32:8–10) and on the statue of Napirasu (EKI 16).
It seems quite clear that there was not a preferred language in general but a pre-
ferred language in relation to a specified textual genre and also to a specific naming
need. Akkadian was used to teach writing (Malayeri 2013) and therefore also to
teach the Akkadian language: the language to be used in learned texts. The “little
evidence of Elamite literary activity” will be increased by future “excavations at other
[Elamite] major settlements, like Deh-­e Now” according to Potts 2012: 52–53, but
the balance will probably remain tipped towards Akkadian in this genre. Conversely,
the political/ideological usage of language is more inclined towards accumulation,
so Elamite was used in royal inscriptions together with Akkadian (and Sumerian
in earlier times). These choices, in my opinion, were not imposed by the king, but
by unwritten socio-­cultural codes. The “wall” between Elamite and Akkadian was
extremely permeable, especially in the direction towards Elamite. This suggests that
we are facing a situation of bilingualism, but probably limited to the scribal class,
that is, an elite bilingualism (Malbran-­Labat 1996; cf. Lambert 1991). If this assump-
tion is correct, the linguistic duality should not be mistaken for ethnic duality (cf. also
Amiet 1979a and 1979b). The same caution should be used when applying linguistic
duality to onomastic data: first of all, it should be proved that there was a perception
and/or awareness of a cultural difference underlying the use of one name instead of
another linguistically different one, and then that this difference mattered, especially
in inclusive or multicultural societies (as opposed to exclusive or ethnocentric societ-
ies). Similarly, pantheons could not be easily isolated according to the linguistic origin
of the names of the gods (see Basello 2012a: 188–193). Linguistical awareness is a
“privilege” of the scribal class.
In sum, by now, it seems quite correct to state that the Akkadian language, that
is, the Akkadian variety attested in Elam, is the key that opens the bolt of Elamite
cuneiform culture.

CALENDARS
A shared calendar is essential in a human society: meetings, administrative opera-
tions, and legal deeds require dating. The calendar in Elam was probably lunisolar
(Blois 2006), like the Babylonian one. This means that it was based on the synodic
month, starting with the first visibility of the moon on the western horizon at the
sunset after the new moon; months probably roughly alternated between 29 and 30
days, resulting in an average duration of 29.5 days, which represents a good approxi-
mation to the synodic month. Since six months with 29 days and six months with 30
days result in a year of 354 days, which is about 11 days less than the tropical year
based on the revolution of the earth around the sun, an additional month of 30 days
was required every three years. The additional month is called intercalary month.
Unfortunately, it is difficult to know more about the Elamite calendar since the
extant evidence is exclusively constituted by dating formulae. At least three different
sets of month-­names are attested from Elam (Cohen 1993; Basello 2002), besides the
usual set of Babylonian month-­names, usually written logographically (and therefore
possibly read with a corresponding Elamite month-­name).

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 — Cuneiform culture and science —

The earliest known month-­names, more than 12, are attested in the dating for-
mulae of the Old Babylonian legal and administrative tablets from Susa. A  group
of these month-­names, linguistically Akkadian, agrees with the ordered and origi-
nally complete list of month-­names in the monthly funerary offerings on the Akka-
dian stela from the courtyard of the Tomb-­Temple complex at Haft Tappeh (Reiner
1973). Some of these month-­names are attested individually in the Akkadian tablets
from Haft Tappeh (Herrero and Glassner 1991: 79–80), dated also with a year-­name.
This set of month-­names could be conventionally called the Susiana set. It is attested
also in a few Mesopotamian sources, including Babylonian menologies and Assyrian
astrological reports (Basello 2002: 22).
In the administrative tablets from Tall-­e Malyan, a different set of month-­names
is attested (Stolper 1984: 14–15), though not all the month-­names are known. This
could be conventionally called the Anshan set. In the Susa Acropolis tablets (MDP
9) the abbreviated logograms used in Mesopotamia to write the Babylonian month-­
names are attested; it is difficult to say how they were pronounced.
Later, in the Persepolis Fortification tablets, two sets of month-­names are attested.
The prevailing one is represented by Old Persian names rendered as loanwords, with
particularly variable spellings which perhaps point to a low level of standardization
(i.e. they were not taught at school; Basello 2006); they were linguistically studied
by R. Schmitt (2003; see also Schmitt 2006). The other, less attested, set has been
considered as Elamite in a cultural and linguistical sense, perhaps attested in tab-
lets written in minor centres to the west of Persepolis. The latter set includes the
month-­names attested at Tall-­e Malyan and could be considered as representing the
Anshan set. Both the Old Persian and Anshan sets have been reconstructed thanks
to the date formulae occurring in nearly all the tablets, and especially through the
sequences of month-­names corresponding to the period in which some food rations
were provided by the central administration. There is an excess month-­name, rahal,
which could not be included in one or the other set; strangely enough, it is attested
also in the Susa Acropolis tablets, in addition to the full set of Babylonian logograms
(Basello 2002: 20–21 and 24). Most of the Persepolis Fortification tablets are also
dated with the regnal year number of a king whose name is not written but was surely
Darius the Great. The date formulae rarely included the day number (about 24 times
in the tablets published in Hallock 1969; see, e.g., PF 77:11 or PF 1980:27–28). In the
Persepolis Treasury tablets (Cameron 1948: 44–45, Table 34.4), only the Old Persian
set is attested.
The Old Persian set was previously known to scholars through the Bisotun
inscriptions of Darius the Great, where key events were dated by day number and
month-­name. The Old Persian spelling is attested in the Old Persian version, while
the Elamite renderings are attested in Elamite; the Babylonian version used the stan-
dard Babylonian logograms. Since the day numbers correspond between the different
languages, one can assume that the Babylonian and Old Persian calendars were syn-
chronized. Due to standardization, it is also probable that the Anshan set of month-­
names represented the same calendar, changing only the names of the months, which,
nevertheless, had fixed correspondences with the Old Persian set.
It is difficult to define the absolute position of the month-­names in each text cor-
pus. However, it seems possible to single out three shifts in the absolute position
of the months: one before the Old Babylonian tablets from Susa, one before the

707
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

administrative tablets from Malyan, and one before the Achaemenid period (Basello
2002: 26–27 and 36, “Synopsis”). These shifts could be due to wrong intercalary
practices.
Sometimes, intercalary month-­names occur in the Persepolis Fortification tab-
lets. Intercalation is marked by mešana (me-­šá-­na) probably meaning “additional”,
2-umena (2-um-­me-­(man-­)na) “second” and 2-edana (2-e-­da-­na) probably with the
same meaning, -(u)mena (-me-­man-­na) probably implying the number 2 and meaning
“second”, KI-MIN “the same” with reference to the preceding month-­name, and pep-
tika (be-­ip-­ti-­ka4) perhaps “hostile, opposing (month)” (Blois 2006: 49–51). Putting
together all the intercalated months, it has been possible to provide a full table of cor-
respondences with the Julian calendar (Henkelman 2008: 125, Table 32.4, based on
Parker and Dubberstein 1956). The intercalations appear to follow a nearly regular
pattern (Hartner 1985: 741–744), matching roughly the pattern later known as the
Metonic cycle (Bowen and Goldstein 1988). It is therefore likely that the Achaemenid
rule held a tight control over time, assuring a standard and shared calendar in the
different areas of the empire. Ultimately, the regulation of time is required to control
states stretching over wide areas and different cultural zones.

METROL O G Y
Studies on Elamite metrology have been principally focused on the balance-­weights
found at Susa during the excavations of J. de Morgan (1897–1910) and R. de Mec-
quenem (1921–1933). The materials, mostly without known archaeological contexts,
have been studied by M.C. Soutzo (1911), N.T. Belaiew (1934) and A.S. Hemmy
(1938), with more recent analyses carried out by the author (Ascalone and Peyronel
1999 and 2003; Ascalone 2011). A  total of 584 weights were identified amongst
the French excavation materials, but only a portion of them (248) allow for deeper
chronological assessments. A limited number of later weights dating to the Middle
Elamite period were found at Haft Tappeh (Negahban 1991: 44, Pl. 28), while no
other evidence has been collected in the Iranian highlands, including Tall-­e Malyan.

The Susiana plain

Sexagesimal, bisexagesimal, and decimal counting systems are contemporarily
attested in the numerical signs on Susa III-type tablets, as well as in the archaic texts
from Uruk, but there are no known relations between the Susa III (Proto-­Elamite)
texts and the excavated weighing evidence. The absence of stratigraphic references
for the weights from Susa forces us to carry out a partial analysis, relying mainly
on those specimens found in well-­defined archaeological context, and hampers the
establishment of a correlation between textual and archaeological evidence in the old
period of the city.
The Susa weights, dating mainly to the end of the 3rd/beginning of the 2nd millen-
nium BC, are standardized in shape and material, with a predominant use of hema-
tite for ovoid, duck, or ‘pebble’ shapes (Tab. 1). The local system, well-­known in the
western alluvium, is Mesopotamian, with the shekel (šiqlu) based on a unit of 8.40
g in a sexagesimal system, where the mina (ca. 504 g = manû) and the talent (30.240
g = biltu) were respectively counted as 60 and 3600 shekels. The same sexagesimal

708
 Table 34.1  Material and shapes of weights from Susa.

Shape Ovoid Cone Cube Cylind. Discoid Duck Hemisph. Frog Insect Pebble Lion Tot.
Material
AGATE 1 1
BITUMINOUS 3 3
LIMESTONE 1 8 4 38 53
CARNELIAN . 1 1
JASPER 1 1
DIORITE 1 1
HEMATITE 74 1 2 55 17 7 2 4 16 1 179
MARBLE 1 1
BLACK ST. 4 4
CHERT 1 1
TOT. 75 1 1 2 68 27 8 2 4 54 1
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

division is attested for the sub-­multiple of the unit calculated as 0.046 g (ratio 1/180)
(Tab. 2). However, different foreign weighing systems are documented at Susa during
the Simashki and Sukkalmakh dynasties, confirming the role played by the Susiana
plain in the commercial relations and cultural transmission among the main regions
of the Near East throughout the Bronze Age (Tab. 3). The shekels (7.83 g, 9.40 g,
and 11.75 g), related to the western mina (ca. 470 g), are attested in the Susa corpus,
as well as Harappan weights, based on a value of 13.65 g (an imported cubic weight
from the Indus valley was also found; see Amiet 1986: 143, Figure 93). A specific
category of weights, the specimens with the inscription “su” on their surface, should
be considered particularly significant for their historical meaning. They represent the
value of so-­called “hybrid mina” (Zaccagnini 1999–2001: 40) counted to ca. 564 g
(= 9.40 × 60), and used to facilitate weighing operations and the equivalence between
the local system and the above-­mentioned western units (Ascalone 2011: Tab. 1).
The wide number of foreign classes and the identification of equivalence opera-
tions among different systems in a Bronze Age site is not an anomaly; however, the
high number of weights (97) related to the western mina at Susa appears meaningful
as a further contribution to the Elamite presence in Inner Syria and Upper Mesopota-
mia in the first quarter of the 2nd millennium BC. A new policy towards the western

Table 34.2  The local system at Susa

Ratio Number of weights Average Values (g)

1/8 1 1,07
1/6 4 1,41
1/4? 4 2,16
1/3 11 2,81
1/2 12 4,23
2/3 17 5,54
1 22 8,40
1+1/2 1 12,75
2 16 16,61
3 10 24,93
5 8 41,30
6 1 49,25
10 7 82,61
30 3 249,60
180 2 1481,00
300 2 2454,00
TOT. 121

710
 — Cuneiform culture and science —

Table 34.3  Metrological distribution of weights from Susa not

belonging to the local system

Ratio 7,83 g 9,40 g 11,75 g 13,65 g

1/16 2 1
1/12 1
1/8 3 3
1/6 6 4
1/4 2 8 3 7
1/3 5 4
1/2 7 6 4 2
2/3 7 2
1 7 3 3 1
1+1/3 1
2 8 1 1
3 3
4 1 2
10 1
12 1
20 1
40 1
80 1
100 1
300 1
TOT. 55 32 10 18

region is indeed confirmed by Mari’s texts dating to the Zimri-­Lim period, in which
messengers of Elam (to Qatna) and the alliance between Elam and Eshnunna against
the land of Idamaraz, with the consequent battle of Razama, are recorded. After the
death of Shamshi-­Adad, a broad Elamite expansion towards north-­west seems to be
attested (several Syrian and Babylonian rulers styled themselves “Sukkalmakh’s son”;
see Charpin and Durand 1991: 64–65), probably to control the Anatolian market
and to have the access to raw materials. Seen from this perspective, the high presence
of western metrological values in the corpus of Susa weights, dating to the first centu-
ries of the 2nd millennium BC, could be part of the widest dossier on the new Elamite
policy in Diyala, Upper Mesopotamia, and Inner Syria before the rise of Hammurabi.
Unfortunately, the absence of well-­defined archaeological contexts at Susa pre-
vents a diachronic analysis focused on the understanding of the historical and metro-
logical development of weights in relation to Elamite power and royal dynasties.

711
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

However, as attested in a group of Anshanite seals (Ascalone 2013), the justice

and rectitude associated with weighing procedures, as major aspects of rightful
kingship, are also known in Elamite history: the title of Ippir, frequently used by
the Sukkalmakh rulers, in primis Kuk-­Nashur I and Attahushu (Potts 1999: Tab.
6.1), means “magistrate of Susa” and confirms the strong relation between the
king and fair justice, as it is known in the inscriptions on the mud-­bricks from
Susa, in which it is recalled: “Attahushu, the shepherd of Inshushinak, sister’s
son of Silhaha, had a stele of justice erected in the marketplace. Whoever does
not know the just price, may the sun inform him” (IRS 12). The same Attahushu,
Sukkal and Ippir of Susa, is indeed mentioned by Middle Elamite kings as the
author of a stele of justice (“the Great Table”), dedicated to the sun god, fixing
the official weights, the prices of the main goods (Scheil 1939: 5), and the rules
for economic transactions (Scheil 1932: nos. 197:5 and 242). All this evidence
seems to be useful for preliminary observations on weighing procedures and their
meaning in Elamite history. After the Akkadian and Ur III periods, it seems that
a standardization of weights and measures was realized in the Elamite kingdom
under the Attahushu’s regency at the beginning of the Sukkalmakh dynasty, when
new titles and propaganda codes were established. If we consider these royal
inscriptions as a product of the Elamite regency (on the model of those from
Mesopotamia), we should also conceive an effective action aimed at standardiz-
ing economic transactions through the fixing of official weights. Attahushu also
seems to have been very active in construction and restoration programs at Susa,
where he built new religious buildings for Pininkir, Narunte, and Anunitum, a
new fortified palace on the opposite bank of the Ulai river, and a bridge over it.
The architectonical program of Attahushu followed a new institutional message,
in which the creation of the new was coupled with the respect for the old, in a
project now focused on the normalization of the administrative values in order to
assure unity, order, and security for all the components (eastern, western, tribal,
alluvial, highlands, nomadic, sedentary, etc.) of the Elamite kingdom. On these
bases, we should assume that Attahushu’s regency brought forth a “standardiza-
tion of accounting” in order to facilitate equivalences across the country, as well
as, in the same period, the standardization of titles and figurative apparatuses by
the central power (see Ascalone, Chapter  31 in this volume). The standardiza-
tion of measures under the Sukkalmakh dynasty therefore followed the broadest
official program, including seals, rock art, religious reforms, settlement planning,
and architectural developments. As in the past for the Ur III kings, the codifica-
tion of laws and the standardization of measures were instruments to guarantee
legal uniformity across the empire. These mechanisms were used as vehicles for a
propaganda aimed at enforcing the perception of a good government and, at the
same time, overcoming the local and tribal traditions of the Elamite kingdom.
The evidence dating to the Middle Elamite period is very scant, the only (and
partial) documentation being from Haft Tappeh, where the real function of the pub-
lished objects remains uncertain (Tab. 4). Unfortunately, only three items could be
considered weights and just one of them is conserved well enough to allow for a
metrological analysis. The specimen, a spherical weight with grooves to insert a rope,
should be considered equal to five western minas underestimated at 455 g, confirming
the use of the western mina (besides the local or Mesopotamian one) in the Elamite

712
 Table. 34.4  Weights and possible-­weights* from Haft Tepe

Context Material Shape Condition Mass (G) Reference

Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Ovoid* Broken 4.355,0+x Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199a
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Ovoid Chipped at 85,0+x Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199b
(between Terrace Complex I and II) the ends
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 220,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199c
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 290,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199d
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 320,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199e
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical Good 2.275,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199f
(between Terrace Complex I and II) with grooves
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Hematite Ovoid Missing a 15,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199g
(between Terrace Complex I and II) part
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 25,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199h
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 9,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199i
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 115,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199j
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 215,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199k
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
Trenches PXXXIV-TXXXIV Limestone Spherical* Good 220,0 Negahban 1991: 44, pl. 28, 199l
(between Terrace Complex I and II)
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

kingdom also during the second half of the 2nd millennium BC, as in contemporary
Syrian sites such as Qatna (Turri 2015: 477).

The Iranian plateau

Our knowledge of the weighing materials (weights, scales, and/or other metro-
logical evidence) is very scant or totally absent in the peripheral Elamite world:
12 weights (one cubic-­shaped) were found in the Iranian excavations at Konar
Sandal South but are not yet published (Pittman 2016: 65); Harappan weights,
ingots, bars in copper, and other specimens were found at Miri Qalat but have not
yet been exhaustively published (Besenval 1994: 89). In the main excavations of
eastern Iran (Shahdad, Tepe Hissar, Shahr-­e Sokhta, Tall-­e Malyan), the weights
were generally not identified, or they were ignored or not published. In some cases
the weights were not evaluated as an important line of evidence for the Bronze
Age economy, while in other cases their real meaning and value were not identified
(Tabs. 3 and 5).
In the Gorgan plain, evidence was collected from stratum I  of Tepe Hissar,
where a “ring weight” was published without drawings or photos; other evidence
is from the Hissar IC refuse layer, where an irregular sandstone object with grip
was considered a possible weight by the excavators. A biconical object was iden-
tified in the Hissar II period, while in the same archaeological context, a chipped
irregular stone was also proposed as a possible weight. Later evidence was identi-
fied in a room of the Hissar IIIB Burned Building, where remains of charred wheat
also occurred; in the same archaeological context a well-­polished stone weight,
in archaeological association with fragments of oval stones with cross-­shaped
grooves on their surface, was found. Unclear is the evidence from Shah Tepe,
where possible weights were included in a broad documentation of pebbles, pes-
tles, and unidentified stone objects. At Shahdad, lying between the Oxus regional
complex and the Jiroft civilization, weights were not identified by the excavators,
although numerous pebbles, ellipsoid, cylindrical, and conical stones were found.
Two objects were considered weights at Mundigak in the eastern Hilmand valley:
the first one is a limestone ovoid-­shaped object with a perforation in the upper
part from phase I.5 dating to the Chalcolithic, and the second one is an ovoid
stone, with an incised line on the surface for suspension, known in phase III.4 but
attested also in several exemplars in phase IV.1 (end of the 3rd millennium BC).
At Shahr-­e Sokhta, in the south-­western corner of the Hilmand valley, weights
were not published, however, one could take into consideration the six pebbles
found in five different graveyards in the excavations in the necropolis area. Fur-
ther evidence is known from Baluchistan, at Nal, Shahi Tump, Bampur, Hussaini,
and Kinneru-­damb, where a specific class of weights, strongly standardized in
shape, dimension, and material, has been identified (Tab. 6). The weights from
Nal appear to be particularly meaningful for their chronology and mass. Indeed,
all weights, dating between the end of the 4th and the mid-­3rd millennium BC,
must be related to the later Harappan system, well known only in the second half
of the 3rd millennium BC in the Indus valley, allowing us to believe that there was
a relationship between the origin of the Harappan system and the oldest eastern
Baluchistan human organizations.

714
 Table. 34.5  Weights or possible-­weights from Iranian plateau

Site Literature Number Period Context Material Shape Measures Condition Reference
(Cm)
Shah Tepe Pestle 601 II Diorite Truncated Raised Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
cone 72, fig. 579 c
Shah Tepe Polishing stone III F III Stone Ellipsoid Good Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
72, fig. 580 a
Shah Tepe Black whetstone E II Stone Ellipsoid Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
72, fig. 580 b
Shah Tepe Polishing stone 422 C II Stone Ovoid Missing Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
part 72, fig. 580 c
Shah Tepe Polished pebble HI Stone Ovoid Chipped Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
72, fig. 580 d
Shah Tepe Polished pebble 1193 II E III Stone Ellipsoid Good Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
72, fig. 580 e
Shah Tepe Polishing stone F III Stone Paral- Good Arne 1945: 279–280, pl.
lelepiped 72, fig. 580 f
Tepe Hissar Ring weight Schmidt 1933: 360
Tepe Hissar Weight H 2095 IC Refuse Stone Ovoid with 26,5 × Missing Schmidt 1937: 58, pl.
DH 69 handle 17,0 × part 18: A
2,2
Tepe Hissar Pestle H 2645 I DG 96 Stone Ovoid 7,0 × 4,0 Good Schmidt 1937: 58, pl. 17
Tepe Hissar Pestle H 1722 II DF 78 Hematite Truncated 3,5 × 3,4 Good Schmidt 1937: 122, pl. 31
cone
Tepe Hissar Weight H 2772 IIIB Burned Red-­brown Ovoid 3,9 × 3,2 Burned Schmidt 1937: 221, pl.
Building stone × 1,68 63, fig. 90

(Continued)
 Table 34.5 (Continued)

Site Literature Number Period Context Material Shape Measures Condition Reference
(Cm)
Tepe Hissar Weight H 2896 IIIB Burned Red-­brown Ovoid 2,8 × 2,3 Burned Schmidt 1937: 221, pl. 63
Building stone × 1,7
Tepe Hissar Pestle H 3079 III CF 89 Diorite Ovoid 4,4 × 6,3 Good Schmidt 1937: pl. 63
Tepe Hissar H 1819 III Stone Ovoid with Good Schmidt 1937: pl. 63
groove
Tepe Hissar H 1685 III Stone Ovoid with Good Schmidt 1937: pl. 63
flat base
Shahdad Rounded stone 0359 Grave 40 Stone Oval 5,20 Hakemi 1997: 201
(A)
Shahdad Ellipsoid stone 0545 Grave 60 Stone Ellipsoid 18,5 × Hakemi 1997: 224
(A) 6,0
Shahdad Ellipsoid 0897 Grave 96 Stone Ellipsoid 13,6 × Hakemi 1997: 255
grooved stone (A) 14,2
Shahdad Elliptical grey 2233 Grave Stone Elliptic 16,0 × Hakemi 1997: 352
stone 192 (A) 14,0
Shahdad Flat stone 2264 Grave Stone Ovoid Hakemi 1997: 354
193 (A)
Shahdad Conical stone 2518 Grave Stone Conical 13,0 × Hakemi 1997: 371
209 (A) 32,0
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 7122 Grave Grey Oval flat 5,8 × 4,1 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 130 limestone 175, fig. 375
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 7145 Grave Grey Oval flat 5,0 × 4,3 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 132 limestone × 0,4 180, fig. 389
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 7146 Grave Grey Oval flat 8,4 × 6,2 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 132 limestone × 1,1 180, fig. 389
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 7672 Grave Grey Circular flat 6,7 × 1,3 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 311 limestone 209, fig. 461
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 7057 Grave Grey Ovoid 7,5 × 6,6 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 415 limestone 224, fig. 501
Shahr-­i Flat pebble 8329 Grave Limestone Ovoid 8,7 × 7,2 Good Piperno – Salvatori 2007:
Sokhta 726 × 1,0 281, fig. 653
Mundigak Weight I: 5 Limestone Ovoid with Casal 1961:234,
hole fig. 135, 4
Mundigak Weight III: 4 Stone Ovoid with Casal 1961: 237,
groove fig. 136, 26
 Table. 34.6  Weights from Baluchistan, Margiana and Makran coast

Site Date Litera- Number Period Material Shape Measures (Cm) System Reference
(Bc) ture Mass (Kg)
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0414–004 I Gray stone Egg-­shaped 16,50 × 26,0 1000 × 13,82 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 13,82 30 × 460,66 2015: n. 631
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0420–009 I Diorite? Egg-­shaped 14,5 × 23,0 750 × 13,81 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 10,36 20 × 518,00 2015: n. 632
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0411–002 I Gray stone Egg-­shaped 15,3 × 23,0 11,47+x kg Franke – Cortesi
with hole 11,47 2015: n. 633
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0410–001 I Gray stone Egg-­shaped 13,5 × 23,0 700 × 13,77 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 9,64 20 × 482,00 2015: n. 634
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0413–003 I Grey light Egg-­shaped 18,0 × 23,5 1000 × 13,65 Franke – Cortesi
stone with hole 13,65 30 × 455,00 2015: n. 635
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0419–008 I Beige stone Egg-­shaped 13,0 × 22,0 600 × 13,58 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 8,15 1000 × 8,15 2015: n. 636
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0415–005 I Beige stone Egg-­shaped 14,0 × 27,3 900 × 13,30 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 11,97 25 × 478,00 2015: n. 637
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0416–006 I Beige stone Egg-­shaped 18,5 × 21,0 650 × 13,70 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 8,91 2015: n. 638
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0426–013 I Grey light Egg-­shaped 13,0 × 22,0 700 × 13,71 Franke – Cortesi
stone with hole 9,60 20 × 480,00 2015: n. 639
Nal 3300–3100 Weight 0418–007 I Beige stone Egg-­shaped 13,5 × 21,0 713,43 × 550 Franke – Cortesi
with hole 7,39 15 × 492,00 2015: n. 640
Nal 2700–2400 Weight 0427–014 III? Light brown Egg-­shaped 16,0 × 19,5 600 × 13,58 Franke – Cortesi
stone with hole 8,15 1000 × 8,15 2015: n. 641
Nal 2300–2200 Weight 0422–011 IV? Grey stone Rounded with 15,5 × 29,0 1200 × 13,73 Franke – Cortesi
flat bases 16,48 2000 × 8,24 2015: n. 642
35 × 470,85
Nal 2300–2200 Weight 0421–010 IV? Grey stone Rounded with 12,0 × 28,0 25 × 455,60? Franke – Cortesi
groove with 11,39 2015: n. 643
flat bases
Shahi-­ 3200–2800 Weight Grave 402 Makran I Lead Ovoid with 13,5 × 16,7 1100 × 13,63 Miller – Besenval –
Tump Sh.Tump handle 15,0 30 × 500,00 Bourgarit 2004
IIIa (1/2 Mesopota-
mian talent)
Bampur 3000–1800 Object Bam. Limestone Spherical Stein 1937: pl. X
A.311a
Bampur 3000–1800 Object Bam. Limestone Ovoid with Stein 1937: pl. X
A.422 truncated ends
Bampur 3000–1800 Object Bam. A. 39 Stone Hemispheric Stein 1937: pl. X
Bampur 3000–1800 Object Bam. A. Stone Circular flat Stein 1937: pl. XXX
371
Hussaini Object Stone Spheric Stein 1937: pl. XXX
Kinneru-­ Weight Stone Egg-­shaped 13,60 kg De Cardi 1983: pl.
damb with hole VIb
Gonur 2200–1800 Statuette Grave Gonur Green stone Duck Rossi-­Osmida 2002:
depe 1200/2000 Phase 98–101
 — Gian Pietro Basello and Enrico Ascalone —

AB B REVIATIO NS
Arg. Three fragmentary Elamite tablets from the excavations of Armavir-­
blur in Diakonoff and Jankowska 1990; see also Koch 1993, Vallat
1995 and 1997.
CDLI Cuneiform texts in the Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative, www.
cdli.ucla.edu.
DPf Elamite royal inscription of Darius on the southern platform wall
at Persepolis; transliteration, transcription, and translation in Roma­
gnuolo 2012.
EKI Elamite royal inscriptions in König 1965.
IRS Royal inscriptions from Susa (and Chogha Zanbil) in Malbran-­Labat
1995.
MAD 1 Old Akkadian tablets in Gelb 1952.
MDP 4 1–16 Legal tablets in Akkadian allegedly from Izeh/Malamir in Scheil 1902:
169–94.
MDP 9 Elamite administrative tablets from the Acropolis of Susa in Scheil
1907.
MDP 11 Cuneiform texts in Scheil 1911.
MDP 18 Sumerian and Akkadian cuneiform texts in Dossin 1927.
MDP 22 Akkadian legal tablets from Susa in Scheil 1930.
MDP 27 297 assorted school texts in Akkadian from Susa in Van der Meer
1935.
MDP 34 Akkadian mathematical texts from Susa in Bruins and Rutten
1961.
MDP 36 1–3 Elamite tablets in Paper 1954.
MDP 57 Learned texts in Akkadian from Susa in Labat 1974.
MLC Materials in the J.P. Morgan Library Collection, now housed in the
Yale Babylonian Collection.
Nin So-­called letters of Ninive (see Vallat 1988 and 1998b; Reade 1992 and
2000) in Elamite. Nin 1–25: Weissbach 1902 (only in cuneiform copy);
Nin 1, 5, 10, 13 e 14: Hinz 1986 (transliteration and translation); Nin
14 (83–1–18, 307): Walker 1980: 79 (small fragment joined to Nin 14)
and 80, Figure 4 (only in cuneiform copy) see also Gorris 2013.
PF Persepolis Fortification tablets in Hallock 1969.
PT Persepolis Treasury tablets in Cameron 1948.
SAA 10 Neo-­Assyrian tablets in Parpola 1993.
TZ Texts (mainly royal inscriptions) in Elamite and Akkadian from
Chogha Zanbil in Steve 1967.
XSd Trilingual Achaemenid royal inscription of Xerxes found in some
fragmentary exemplars on at least two of the four column bases in
the so-­called Gate of Darius at Susa (Vallat 1974).

NOTE
1 Chapter authored by Gian Pietro Basello with a contribution on metrology by Enrico
Ascalone.

720
 — Cuneiform culture and science —

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ELAMITE RELIGION AND RITUAL

Enrique Quintana

INTRODU CTIO N
In treating the religion and ritual of “the Elamite world”, one must bear in mind that
Elam evolved throughout its three thousand or so years of existence under numer-
ous rulers and dynasties who inhabited a common territory combining highland and
lowland geographical environments. As a result, the character of Elamite religion was
highly dynamic. The present general survey commences with the 3rd millennium BC,
when textual documentation first becomes available with the records of the Akka-
dian kings and the Awanite king Puzur-­Inshushinak, and is brought to a close with
the emergence of the Achaemenid empire. Despite the scope of reigns and epochs
covered here, and the corresponding diversity of “religions” and divinities, it is evi-
dent that on the whole Elamite religious beliefs and practices display an unexpected
continuity throughout the millennia.

DIVINIT IE S
It would seem that in Elam there was never a unified religious creed. Instead, with
a territory constituted by various geopolitical and regional entities, a diverse set of
divinities, each closely linked to its place of origin, is encountered. Some of these dei-
ties were represented in iconography on seals, stelae, rock reliefs and as statues and
figurines. They can usually be identified by their headdress with horns, and are often
found seated on a throne of coiled snakes with a human head.
From Sumerian, Akkadian and Elamite texts it can be established that in the Susi-
ana alone, over 200 divinities were worshipped (Vallat 1998), including most notably
Inshushinak, Ishnikarab, Lagamal and Manzat as well as the Mesopotamian Inanna,
Ea, Sin and Adad. From Awan were the gods Pinikir, Humban, Hutran and Nah-
hunte and Kirmashir; from Anshan were Napirisha, Kiririsha, Simut, Kilah-­shupir,
Silirqatru and Upurkupak; from Shimashki was Ruhurater and Hishmitik, and per-
haps Yabru; and from Ayapir near modern Izeh-­Malamir was Mashti. This heteroge-
neous ensemble is partly mentioned in a royal inscription of the Middle Elamite king
Shilhak-­Inshushinak (EKI 54), who invokes “the gods of Elam, the gods of Anshan

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and the gods of Susa” as separate, fundamentally distinct, pantheons of divinities.

In the Neo-­Elamite period “the gods of Ayapir” (EKI 75 §26) are also included. At
the head of the pantheon may have been the god Yabru (Elamite Yabr or Yabar), not
attested in Elamite sources but equated by the Mesopotamians to Sumerian Anu, the
supreme god (Šurpu C:53). This divinity appears in the royal name Yabrat/Yabarat
(later Ebarat, Eparti), not strictly Elamite, but of Shimashkian origin, (as Ebarat
appears two times in the famous Susian list of Simashkian kings).
One god who remained consistently important throughout Elamite history was
Inshushinak, the lord of Susa and supreme lord of the dead, responsible for justice
and law. Otherwise, two main trends in the Elamite pantheon can be observed: the
honouring in the Old Elamite period of Suso-­Mesopotamian gods at Susa and, from
the Middle Elamite period onwards, the predominance of gods from the highlands,
most notably the divine couple of Napirisha, the great god, and his wife Kiririsha,
the great goddess, also known by the epithets Lady of Liyan, Mother of the Gods,
Guardian of the Kings and Lady of Death.
In addition to these major deities, groups of gods were allocated specific responsi-
bilities. For example, the Bahahutep (benefactors or protectors) were creators of the
world and life, while the Napratep (constructors or designers) were responsible for
organizing, protecting and acting upon the physical realm of the world. There were
also gods or goddesses associated with celestial objects, specific physical elements and
moral notions. Thus, Humban was Commander of Heaven, the god of the element
air; Nahhunte was an astral divinity associated with the sun; and Napir with the
Moon.
Divine couples are also known: Shimut, the messenger of the gods, and Manzat,
his female companion; the god Ruhurater, creator of human beings, and Hishmitik,
the goddess who assigns their names. This latter pair was present during childbirth.
Ruhurater created the human form – the physical body – and Hishmitik conferred a
name upon the newborn; for, as the Sumerians believed, human beings (and things)
did not exist until they were named. This close relationship between the divine and
the individual’s name was often expressed in personal names incorporating the
name of a divinity; for instance: Untash-­Napirisha, “Napirisha helped me”; Shilhak-­
Inshushinak, “strengthened by Inshushinak”, or Melir-­Nahhunte “(female) servant
of Nahhunte”.
One of the main roles of the gods was to give life. They possessed a numinous
essence known as kiden, which they placed over humans for their protection. Another
major responsibility of the gods was to confer and protect kingship, subduing the
kings’ enemies and ensuring a prosperous and happy reign. Kings also had their own
personal gods to protect their place on the throne from potential usurpers who might
claim to have been elected by the gods. Activities such as law giving and trade regula-
tion, amongst many others, came under the jurisdiction of various deities.
Sickness, poverty and other misfortunes to befall human beings were the domain
of demons and ghosts, whose expulsion required the skills of an exorcist. That the
Elamites believed in some kind of life after death can be deduced from rites of puri-
fication, the content of maledictions and the offerings placed in the burials. It has
been argued that the death was a primary preoccupation of Elamites and that their
ziggurats had a funerary character (Vallat 1997). A unique group of seven texts of
funerary character found in a tomb at Susa dating to the end of the Sukkalmah period

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offer an important, if difficult interpret, reference for afterlife beliefs in Elam. Accord-
ing to these tablets, after death an individual embarked on a journey accompanied
by the gods Ishnikarab and Lagamal. At its conclusion they faced some kind of a
weighing and a judgement was handed down by Inshushinak. The texts indicate that
the afterlife was a place of darkness, misery and adversity; a land of privation and
thirst without food or water (Scheil 1916; Steve and Gasche 1996; Tavernier 2013).

TEMPL E S
The Elamite gods were worshipped in temples and open-­air sanctuaries (see below).
Our knowledge of early Elamite temples is derived from 3rd millennium cylinder
seals on which they are represented as monumental rectangular buildings set on a
terrace foundation with facades marked by recesses and false niches. In the Middle
Elamite period, an important religious centre was built by the king Untash-­Napirisha
(ca. 1340–1300) at Chogha Zanbil. Some of its temples are mentioned in texts by
name: hunin, kinin, likrin, limin, silin, talin, mielki ilani, but their meaning remains
unknown.
Divinities in the form of sculptures resided inside sanctuaries and were nurtured
by priests and priestesses. Statues of the king and members of the royal family were
also placed in the sanctuary to worship the gods and receive their blessing and pro-
tection, as were stelae narrating the achievements of the king. Offerings were made at
the temples by kings, potentates and the general populace, with figurines of worship-
pers perhaps placed in the sanctuary to pray before the god after a donation to the
priests. Weapons such as swords, axes and arrows were dedicated to the divinities in
order to ensure the kings’ military victories.
The grounds of the temples dedicated to the principal gods such as Inshushinak,
Napirisha and Kiririsha included sacred groves, which are presumed to have pos-
sessed a funerary character. The groves were described in texts as secret places sur-
rounded by a wall with an entrance door and it is believed that the Elamite kings and
nobles were buried inside. Such a grove may be represented in a depiction of gardens
from either Susa or Madaktu preserved in a Neo-­Assyrian relief of the North Palace
of Ashurbanipal at Nineveh (Barnett 1976: Pls. XXV and XXVI, slab 9).
A question of interest for the history of religion is whether the Elamites had a
divinity associated with fire and practiced the cult of fire. In Middle Elamite Susa
some kind of fire cult might be surmised from the imagery depicted on a group of
seals (Amiet 1966, no. 275; MDP 1972, numbers 2076–7, 2081). A  text from the
Kidinuid dynasty bears invocations to Gibil (MDP 18, 255), a Mesopotamian fire
deity. At Chogha Zanbil a siyan limin (temple of the fire) was dedicated to Kilahsh-
upir (MDP 41, 29) and another to Nusku (MDP 41, 23–24); both fire deities. In the
Neo-­Elamite period a stand with fire is seen on the rock-­relief of Hanni from Kul-­e
Farah (see below; open-­air sanctuaries) and a certain Tallak-­kutur, priest of fire, is
mentioned in texts (Vallat 2003). This evidence indicates the use of fire in cultic rit-
uals and divinities associated with fire, perhaps suggesting the existence of a fire cult
in Elam.
Both the sacred city of Chogha Zanbil and the Acropolis mound of Susa can be
considered to have hosted large religious compounds incorporating numerous tem-
ples surrounded by enclosure walls. In the centre dominating the sacred precinct was

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the temple tower of several stories: the ziggurat (zagratume in Elamite), a stepped
tower ornamented with enormous horns. At Chogha Zanbil, the corners of the zig-
gurat dedicated to Napirisha and Inshushinak are precisely oriented to the cardinal
points. The façades of the temples were decorated with protective geniuses and myth-
ical animals. Griffins, eagle-­lion hybrids of Elamite origin, were placed at the base of
the ziggurat to protect the entrance.

OP EN-­A IR SANCTUARIE S
Dramatic natural outdoor spaces provided important locations for the worshipping
of deities. The Elamite open-­air sanctuaries discovered close to water courses at
Kurangun, Kul-­e Farah and Shekaft-­e Salman in the Zagros valleys of southwest Iran,
all incorporate rock-­carved reliefs of religious significance enhancing the numinous
dimensions of their natural landscape. These sanctuaries were places of pilgrimage
where festivities, perhaps linked to seasonal movements of herding groups, may have
been celebrated on an annual basis (e.g. the autumnal equinox) (Henkelman 2008:
59). During the festivities at these sites, prayers requesting the protection of the gods
are likely to have been recited.
The Kurangun relief was carved on the side of a mountain overlooking the valley
of the Fahliyan River, some 90 km northwest of Tall-­e Malyan (the ancient city of
Anshan), between Susa and Persepolis. It depicts a divine couple, identified as dei-
ties by their horned crowns, perhaps the “Great God” Napirisha and the “Supreme
Goddess” Kiririsha. Napirisha is seated on a coiled serpent throne and holds a two-­
headed snake in his left hand. Kiririsha sits on an animal-­shaped throne. These deities
are being worshipped by several male and female devotees. The divinities are faced by
a couple standing behind a man with outstretched hands who catches streams flow-
ing from the ring and staff held in Napirisha’s right hand. In a later period, a group
of worshippers with long plaited hair descending a set of stairs were added the left
of the central scene and another small group of worshippers to its right (Potts 2004;
Álvarez-­Mon 2014).
In the Izeh-­Malamir valley, about 120 km southeast of Susa and 300 km northwest
of Tall-­e Malyan, is situated the sanctuary of Kul-­e Farah, where six separate reliefs
dating to the Neo-­Elamite period were carved on the faces of cliffs and boulders. In
the relief labelled Kul-­e Farah 1, an individual identified in the accompanying inscrip-
tion (EKI 75) as Hanni, ruler Aiapir, is shown overseeing the sacrifice of animals
with his court officials, officiators and musicians who are all named by captions. The
long inscription is dedicated to Tirutur, the god of Shilhite, and mentions the names
of Hanni, his wife, his children, his seneschal, his officiator and priests. In it, Hanni
requests magical protection for his image followed by a set of curses against anyone
who would vandalize it. The celebrations and rituals that took place at this site evi-
dently involved a shared sacrificial meal, as shown in Kul-­e Farah IV (Álvarez-­Mon
2013).
At Shekaft-­e Salman, on the other side of the Izeh valley, is a cave sanctuary with
a spring and waterfall incorporating four carved-­relief panels. One panel dating to
the late Middle Elamite period shows three adults and one child oriented towards
the cave, making gestures of prayer before a fire stand. Hanni later co-­opted this
ancestral royal imagery by adding his own inscription (EKI 76c-­d). A  second late

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Middle Elamite panel shows the figures of a man, woman and child, likewise making
gestures of prayer towards the cave. The latter two preserved captions (EKI 76g-­i),
added later by Hanni to identify them as members of his family. Hanni also added an
inscription on a third relief (EKI 76 and 76a) depicting a single individual in prayer.
In this inscription Hanni asks for the protection of the goddess Mashti of Tarri-
sha, the ancient name of Shekaft-­e Salman, and finishes with the habitual curses. An
extremely damaged fourth panel depicting a praying individual also bears an inscrip-
tion of Hanni mentioning the goddess Mashti (EKI 76f).
Finally, the sanctuary at Naqsh-­i Rustam located 6km northeast of Persepolis,
notably chosen as the burial site of several Achaemenid kings, includes the poorly
preserved remains of an Elamite relief. The central panel features two gods seated on
coiled-­serpent thrones and two worshippers (one wearing a crown) framing the pair
of enthroned deities were added at a later date.

CLERG Y
Priests, priestesses and acolytes are well attested in the Elamite world, although their
specific functions remain basically unknown. The content of certain Neo-­Elamite
royal texts of the king Tepti-­Huban-­Inshushinak (EKI 85) and of the so-­called Oruru
bronze plaque allows us to assume that there was equality between priestesses and
priests, as both administer temples, divine estates and the gods’ assets; in addition,
it is particularly stated that they got married and bore children (“flour and sheep
handed over to the chief priestess and her children”; author’s own translation). In the
other mentionned text (EKI 85) appears an unnamed chief priestess for the temple of
Humban, a main god.
Some clergy are known by name in the Neo-­Elamite period. For example, a chief
priest of all temples (Shutruru) who accompanied the ruler on his travels and war
campaigns (EKI 74). In glyptic imagery and the Sit samši bronze model (described
below) male priests perform divine rites fully naked (Tallon in Harper et al. 1992:
137–140, no. 87). They are instead sometimes represented with long hair or wearing
a wig.

MAKING AP P EALS TO THE G O D S

Invocations to the gods are well known through three different categories of evi-
dence: royal inscriptions, legal documentation and curses.

Royal inscriptions
The Middle Elamite kings Untash-­Napirisha and Shilhak-­Inshushinak I (ca.1150–
1120) were particularly active in seeking the favour of the gods in their royal inscrip-
tions. The god is invoked by their name, usually followed by his or her epithets
and powers, and the king’s name is mentioned together with his filiation and titles.
Shilhak-­
Inshushinak I, for example, cites certain family members with explana-
tory adjectives such as “beloved brother” (igi hanik), “older brother” (igi hamit), or
“genuine mother” (amma haštuk). This same king makes his invocations before the
destruction of the cities he ravages in his raids (e.g. EKI 48 and 54). Such invocations

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are followed by sacrifices and offerings. The king Untash-­Napirisha built temples to
the gods in exchange for their divine favour and protection. The renovation of build-
ings, ritual offerings or the recovering and keeping of royal steles were accomplished
under the god’s orders (e.g. EKI 21).
In the Middle Elamite period, a list of appeals for divine benevolence can be estab-
lished as follows: “for the king’s life”, “for his life and the life of his family”, “to
obtain divine favour”, “for his life and reign”, “for his life, health and reign”, “for
his life, reign, and seed”, “for a long life and reign”, “for a long life”, “for the reign”,
“for the accomplishment of divine commands in order to recuperate ancient rites”,
“in favour, honour, or recognition of the king”, “for his life, family, and the Elamite
people”, “for his life, the life of his wife, and the Elamite people” and “for the life of
the Elamite people” (Malbran-­Labat 1995: 62–78, 88–116). It is noteworthy that the
Elamite king included his subjects or citizens, the Elamite people or more precisely
the inhabitants of Anshan and Susa, in the invocations (EKI 48, 53, 54)
A later inscription of the Neo-­Elamite king Hallutash-­Inshushinak addresses his
god (IRS 58): “O! Inshushinak my god, do not bring me a difficult destiny, bring life,
the one who is faithful, do not bring him the status of impiety!”

Legal documentation
Legal texts from Susa dating to the early 2nd millennium reveal that civil law and
religion were intimately connected. The god Nahhunte, for example, appears in con-
tracts as a partner of merchants, who in turn dedicated part of their profits to him.
Such contracts were formalized in the presence of the city gods in their sanctuary.
At Susa, they concluded with the oath involving the sukkalmah, the sukkal and the
city god Inshushinak. Penal clauses for infringement of a sworn oath included tor-
ture (mutilation) of the treaty-­breaker, payments for reparation, and loss of prop-
erty. Explicit religious malediction was also threatened, with a divine curse (“may he
disappear!”) and the revocation of divine protection, which would result in the loss
of peace and life. A practice of trial by water ordeal is attested in connection with
adoptions and inheritances, with contract clauses indicating that whoever breaks the
agreement should go into the water and the god Shazi will shatter his skull in the
whirlpool. In the so-­called texts of Huhnur a reference is found suggesting a verdict
was reached by ordeal through water (Klíma 1971).

Curses
Various curses against those who would denigrate the king’s accomplishments
were added at the end of royal inscriptions. In the late 3rd millennium, king Puzur-­
Inshushinak’s curses follow a typical pattern: if someone dismisses his texts, disre-
gards his decisions in matters of justice, or carries away his dedicated objects, may all
the gods a) tear out his roots and remove his seeds; b) let him not have an heir and not
have a progeny (FAOS 7: 321–338). In the 2nd millennium during the Igihalkid and
Shutrukid dynasties curses are addressed against “the enemy forces”, “whoever shall
attack in bad faith the buildings erected”, and “whoever destroys, pulls out, steals
or carries away the dedicated object”. The list of desired punishments include: “may
the wrath, punishment or terror of the god or gods fall upon the evil doer”, “may his

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offspring or seed not be prosperous or not be preserved”, “may his name disappear”,
“may the god’s powers overcome him”, “may the gods disregard his labours”, “he
shall not enjoy what he should obtain”, “he shall be separated from his acolytes”,
“his people shall be disobedient to him”, “his fortune shall not be prosperous” and
“he shall not be pleased in his wants” (e.g. EKI 9 III a-­c, 13 A, 16, 44 a-­b, 45, 48 b,
54 a, 54 b, 61 B-C, 73)). On some occasions the king pleads for another later king to
restore the work and reinstate his name (e.g. EKI 9 III b)
In the 1st millennium, texts explicitly describe curses made against evil doers.
Three examples in particular offer insights into the nature of such maledictions.
First is the inscription on the Oruru bronze plaque (translated by the author; for
discussion of this plaque see Basello 2013): “The one who tramples this text.  .  .,
who takes away its bronze. . ., who takes control of an acolyte and, when he shall
be grown, alienates him or hits him. . ., who steals the provisions, who mistreats his
prisoners. . ., who makes off with the food and goods, who withdraws the grain from
the granary, who takes away the stocks from the housekeeping. . ., who lets rot the
seed stored in the granary. . ., who destroys the bronze tablet that I have made hung
on my god, who carries away, damages, ruins, erases, breaks, misuses or wrecks the
written tablet, who smash it or seize it, may the punishment of Napirisha . . . and
Siashum fall over him, evil doer, like a mace. . ., may his progeny be cut off. . ., may
his name not be preserved in the world”.
Second is a text of Hanni, prince of Ayapir preserved at Shekaft-­e Salman (EKI
76, §§32–38): “The one who damages my image, who erases my name and puts his
own name over it, the one who steals the gifts of the minister, who removes his sacred
offerings, that one will pursued to the furthest region by the curse of Humban, Kirir-
isha and the benevolent lord that created water and earth. The salvation of Mashti
will be removed from him! May his life be cut off under the Moon and the Sun! (He
will be without) descendants!”
Third is an inscription of a priest named Shutruru (EKI 74, §§17–18): “As for the
one who will interchange an acolyte or take him away from the temple in order to
hand him over to another one, may the punishment of Napirisha fall upon him, may
Nahhunte wipe out his name.”

RITUAL CERE M O NIE S

Most informative on the characteristics of religious rituals are the royal inscriptions
dating to the Middle Elamite period. One text by the king Tepti-­ahar from Haft-­Tepe
(IRS 20; see also Reiner 1973) indicates the existence of a ritual taking place in the
evening and states that “the four wives of the building guards should not perform
the zilluhti ceremony, should not remove the gold of the statues, their clothes should
be tied with ribbons, after entering they must embrace the feet of the protective and
intermediary divinities, they must ignite torches and watch. The haša, the kiparu, the
chief priest, the guards of the house, and the priest of the house should seal the house
in front of the women; at dawn after they have checked (the statue of the) king, the
protective and intermediary divinities, they can exit and go”.
To the reign of the king Shilhak-­Inshushinak I belongs the Sit samši (rising sun),
a three-­dimensional bronze model hidden in a tile incorporated into the masonry
of a tomb situated in the area of the Ninhursag temple in Susa. The model bears a

735
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three-­dimensional representation of a ritual offering by two naked priests surrounded

by an offering table, a stele, an altar, a ziggurat-­like model, trees (a grove?) and two
basins. One priest stretches the palms of his hands out towards the other, who is
about to pour some kind of liquid from a vessel. It is generally agreed that the scene
may be depicting a ritual cleansing taking place at the sunrise. The object has an
inscription on the base (EKI 56) belonging to the king Shilhak-­Inshushinak I, which
states: I am Shilhak-­Inshushinak, son of Shutruk-­Nahhunte, beloved servant of Ins-
hushinak, king of Anshan and Susa, enlarger of the realm, sovereign of Elam, ruler
of Elam, a “rising of the sun” in bronze I made, s/he . . . in/of Susa, as a gift may it
come to you.
The inclusion of water in rituals must have been important, since at Chogha Zan-
bil two massive basins situated at the edge of the holy city’s compound may have
been built in order to collect water for the performance of ablutions. The water may
have been internally supplied by means of a network of drain pipes and canals linked
to the ziggurat (see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2007).
In the Neo-­Elamite period the previously mentioned Oruru plaque conveys a ritual
to the four winds performed with wine, flour and sheep.

SACRIFICES, OF F ERING S AND F E S TIVAL S

The oldest record of sacrifices and offerings is found in a document dating to the
reign of king Puzur-­Inshushinak. This text indicates that at the gate of the Inshush-
inak temple at Susa the daily sacrifice of two sheep took place; one at dawn and
another in the evening. Singers were stationed day and night at this gate, which was
greased with oil (20 sìla = 20 litres). In addition, the king dedicated to Inshushinak
an emblem of gold and silver, a dagger and an axe (Potts 2016: 113, table 4.12). In
the 2nd millennium Shilhak-­Inshushinak mentions that he made sacrifices and offer-
ings after his reconstruction and repair of buildings and objects, but does not further
describe or provide the name of these ritual offerings (EKI 46–53).
In the Neo-­Elamite period it is recorded that the priest Shutruru made a gift of
12 sheep and 120 kg of flour as an offering for the goddess Lakamar (EKI 74 §58).
The king Tepti-­Huban-­Inshushinak also donated to various temples for a festival a
total of 31 bulls and 186 sheep, to be consumed by priests and clergymen at a rate of
one bull and six sheep per temple (EKI 85). Imagery depicted in Neo-­Elamite rock-­
reliefs reveals that sacrifices and offerings were made in open-­air sanctuaries during
religious ceremonies, perhaps centered on an image of the god, involving banqueting
and music (Álvarez-­Mon 2013).
In Achaemenid Persia, sacrificial rituals and offerings are attested in Elamite
documents from the Persepolis archive. The lan ceremony, a regular sacrifice with
Elamite precedents frequently cited in texts, included the provision of flour  – for
sacrificial bread – beer or wine, fruits and sheep. The kušukum, another sacrificial
ritual, involved a sheep, large quantities of wine (10 litres), beer (10 litres) and cereal
(100 kilograms). The bašur and šumar, both funerary offerings, also involved large
amounts of foodstuffs (see Henkelman 2003).
Very little is known about the religious holidays of Elam, but royal involvement is
consistently alluded to in the documentation. In the late 3rd millennium festivals are
known to have taken place at Susa. One of these, referred to as gušum, was dedicated

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to “the Lady of the Acropolis”, perhaps Ninhursag or Inanna. According to Hinz

(1971: 672; 1972: 60) it was celebrated annually on the occasion of the new moon of
the autumnal equinox, or in the new year (spring equinox) on “the day of the flowing
offerings” when sheep were sacrificed inside the sacred temple grove. Another holiday
known as tuga was devoted to Shimut. It took place in May during spring, and was
accompanied by the sacrifice of a bull (Hinz 1971: 672, 1972: 60). During the Middle
Elamite period a celebration in honour of the god Kirwasir was held during the new
moon, as mentioned by the king Tepti-­ahar’s stele from Haft Tepe (Reiner 1973).
Another festival mentioned in Middle and Neo-­Elamite sources is the šip, the
details of which can be expanded upon through evidence from Achaemenid times. It
was dedicated to the god Zizkurra and commodities (flour, wine), livestock (sheep,
calf), and poultry were consumed by perhaps up to 520 attendees in the open air.
This holiday was held during November and December in the king’s presence and
always in royal cities. On this occasion gifts were given and royal privileges granted
by the king. Another holiday called anši was held between December and January
and involved the distribution of a large amount of fruit, a commodity which may
have had a special status (for both festivals, see Henkelman 2011).

MAGIC
Since it is generally difficult to separate magic and religion in ancient civilizations,
the two must be conceived together in a very wide sense. Elamite manifestations of
magic can be interrogated through a limited number of incantation, exorcism and
astrological texts.
An incantation text partially written in Elamite and partially in Sumerian begins
with an introductory “invocation” formula and closes with a Sumerian “én-­é-­nu-­ru”
(meaning unknown) formula, which is sometimes also placed as the text head-
ing. Other texts are intended for the woman in the cradle (two texts); against the
Lamashtu demon (two texts); for soothing a child; against the worm; against the
ghosts; against the scorpion (BBVO I 1–7 and van Dijk 1957: 93).
Ritual incantations were formalized in Sumer with stereotyped formulas. Specific
invocations to demons or evil-­spirits were written in Elamite, because those demons
were considered inhabitants of Elam; according to some Mesopotamian texts the
witch-­like and demoniac land (Hinz 1971: 662). An exorcism text (BBVO I 7, trans-
lated by the author) offers an example of this kind of magic: “Enenuru: may it purify,
by the gods Enlil, Enki, Nergal, the heaven – repeated 7 times –, the earth – 7 times –,
the hill – 7 times –, the sanctuary – 7 times –, I made an offering to Zinzi, I made an
offering to Zihi, I made an offering to Huh, Huh the one who lives, I made an offering
to Huhme. The Dimme-­demon, may he be conjured by the heaven’s life, by the earth’s
life, until the spawn of his god be handed back to his place, may he not eat food with
him, may he not drink water with him, in the feast, may Enlil your father not speak
with your body.”
Elam was evidently considered by the Assyrians as a land where students learned
and practiced astrology, as we can surmise from Neo-­Assyrian letters to the Assyrian
king (e. g. SAA X 160). A unique astrological document dating to the Neo-­Elamite
period contains predictions of monthly events related to phenomena such as lunar
eclipses and concludes with a curse. Both sides of the tablet are divided into sections,

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each of which provides predictions for a complete year, though it cannot be deter-
mined whether each section refers to the same year or deals with a different year.
A singularity of the text is that on its reverse it bears the signature of its author, a
man called Atekitin. As an example of the nature of these predictions, a passage of
the third month reads: “(when the darkness shall cover the Moon, from the night
coming) although the people have been enrolled, they will not protect the king from
the tragedy”. The document in its final part reads as follows: “Tablet of Atekitin, son
of Zuirru; he who shall damage it, he who shall write his name in the 70 omens that
I have made, may he not be recognized under the sun” (Scheil 1917, subscription).
Later, in the Seleucid epoch, an incantation priest called Kidin-­anu states that he
found in Elam two astrological tablets that he copied and brought to Uruk in Meso-
potamia (AO 6451; see Wiseman 1956).

AB B REVIATIO NS
BBVO I Incantation texts published in van Dijk, J.J. 1982. Fremdsprachliche
Beschwörungstexte in der südmesopotamischen literarischen Ueber-
liferung. In: Nissen, H.J.  & Renger, J. (eds.) Mesopotamien und seine
Nachbarn: politische und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen im alten Vorder-
asien vom 4. bis 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. 25. Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen
Orient 1. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 97–110.
EKI Elamite royal inscriptions published in König, F.W. 1965. Die Elamischen
Königsinschriften, Archiv für Orientforschung Beiheft 16). Graz (reprint
Osnabrück, 1977).
FAOS 7 Freiburger Altorientalishe Studien published in Gelb, I.J.-Kienast, B. 1990.
Die Alakkadischen Königsinschriften des Dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr.
Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag.
IRS Royal inscriptions on bricks from Susa (and Chogha Zanbil) published in
Malbran-­Labat 1995.
MDP 18 Sumerian and Akkadian texts published in Dossin, G. 1927. Autres textes
sumériens et accadiens, Mémoires de la Mission Archéologique de Perse
18. Paris: Ernest Leroux.
MDP 41 Royal inscriptions in Elamite and Akkadian from Chogha Zanbil pub-
lished in Steve, M.-J. 1967. Tchoga Zanbil (Dur-­Untash), vol. III, Tex-
tes élamites et accadiens de Tchoga Zanbil, Mémoires de la Délégation
Archéologique en Iran 41. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner.
MDP 43 Cachets, Sceaux-­cylindres et Empreintes antiques in Amiet, P. 1972. Glyp-
tique Susienne, vol. I, Textes, vol. II, Planches, Mémoires de la Délégation
Archéologique en Iran 43. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner.
SAA X State Archives of Assyria volume X published in Parpola, S. 1993. Let-
ters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars. Helsinki: Helsinki University
Press.

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Philological, Historical and Geographical Persepectives. Proceedings of the International

Congress Held at Ghent University. December 14–17, 2009, Mémoires de la Délégation en
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Vallat, F. 1997. Le caractère funéraire de la ziggurat en Élam. Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves

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London: Trustees of the British Museum.

F URTHER R E AD ING
Bottéro, J. 1997. Les inscriptions cunéiformes funéraires. In: Gnoli, G. and Vernant, J.-P. (eds.)
La mort, les morts dans les sociétés anciennes, Actes du Colloque sur l’idéologie funéraire,
Ischia, Cambridge, 1977. Paris, 373–406.
Ghirshman, R. 1968. Tchoga Zanbil (Dur Untash) II: Temenos, Temples, Palais, Tombes,
Mémoires de la Délégation Archéologique en Iran 40. Paris: Paul Geuthner.
Grillot, F. 2001. Le monde d’en bas en Susiane. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie Orien-
tale 95/2: 141–148.
Koch, H. 1995. Theology and Worship in Elam and Achaemenid Iran. In: Sasson, J.M. (ed.)
Civilizations of the Ancient Near East 3. New York: C. Scribner's Sons, 1959–1969.
Labat, R. 1971. Elam III. Religion. In: Cambridge Ancient History (CAH) II/2, chapter XXIX,
Elam c. 1600–1200 B.C. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 399–416.
Malbran-­Labat, F. 2004. La fête en Élam dans le culte royal et les cérémonies populaires. In:
Mazoyer, M., Pérez Rey, J., Malbran-­Labat, F. and Lebrun, R. (eds.) La fête. La rencontre
des dieux et des hommes, Collection Kubaba, Série Actes 4. Paris, 39–48.
Miroschedji, P. de 1981a. Le dieu élamite Napiriša. Revue d’Assyriologie et d’Archéologie
Orientale 74: 129–143.
———. 1981b. Le dieu élamite au serpent et aux eaux jaillissantes. Iranica Antiqua 16: 1–25.
Potts, D.T. 2010. Elamite Temple Building and Appendix 2: Catalogue of Elamite Sources. In:
Boda, M.J. and Novotny, J. (eds.) From the Foundations to the Crenellations. Essays of
Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, Alter Orient und Altes Testa-
ment 366. Münster: Ugarit-­Verlag, 49–60 and 479–509.
———. 2011. Iran. In: Insoll, T. (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of Ritual and
Religion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 811–825.
Vallat, F. 2003. Suse: G.1. La religion suso-­élamite. In: Briend, J. and Quesnel, M. (eds.) Sup-
plément au Dictionnaire de la Bible 74: cols. 529–553.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ELAMITE FUNERARY PRACTICES

Hermann Gasche and Steven W. Cole

T he term ‘Elam’ seems to designate a collection of ill-­ defined territories that

extended over Susiana and the Zagros mountain range as far as the border of
the central Iranian desert (Figure 36.1). At around 3000 BC, so-­called Proto-­Elamite
texts appeared. These texts, still incompletely deciphered, were mostly written in Susa
(Le Brun and Vallat 1978; Scheil 1900: 130–131, 1905: 57–129, 1908: 97, 1923 and
1935), but smaller numbers have been found in north, west and south Iran, from Tepe
Ozbaki (Vallat 2003)1 and Tepe Sofalin (Hessari 2011: 37, Figure 3, 43–45) – near
Tehran – to Shahr-­e Sukhteh, close to the southern border with Afghanistan. Little
is known about the political organization in this large area, and the geographical
construct ‘Elam’ (kur nimᴷᴵ) appears first only in late Early Dynastic Mesopotamian
texts (Steve et al. 2002–2003: 422).
By the end of the third millennium, Elam’s eastern limit may have been in the mod-
ern province of Kerman. Indeed, recent excavations have revealed possible Elamite
linear inscriptions at Konar Sandal, some 25 km south of Jiroft (Madjidzadeh and
Pittman 2008: Figure 14; Desset 2014). This would locate the eastern border some
550 km from Anshan (Malyan) – Elam’s highland capital – and some 1,000 km from
lowland Susa, which became the main political center in the early second millennium.
This enormous territory is nevertheless far from being a homogeneous entity (Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi 2010b: 109). As for the southern border, the Gulf was a natural limit,
although no pre-­Parthian settlements are known along the narrow and inhospitable
coastal strip between Bushire – ancient Liyan – and the Iranian Makran.2 Finally, the
northeastern limit seems to follow the western border of the Iranian central desert,
but the extension beyond the modern provinces of Ilam and Luristan is more dif-
ficult to fix. However, during the less documented first half of the first millennium
BC, the so-­called Neo-­Elamite period (ca. 1050–1539 BC according to Steve et al.
2002–2003: 470), Elam’s territory shrunk more or less to the northeastern lowland
of modern Khuzestan before it finally became incorporated in the Persian Empire.
Within this area, a number of ancient sites have been investigated. Our survey of
the excavations in this vast region reveals that graves were not found below private
houses as in Mesopotamia but rather in cemeteries or on abandoned archaeological
mounds. The one notable exception is in the lowland capital of Susa, where graves

741
Figure 36.1  Map of Iran showing archaeological sites mentioned in text.
 — Funerary practices —

are below houses in some residential areas.3 Susa, however, was located near the
western border of Elam and therefore would have been a natural destination for peo-
ples migrating from the Mesopotamian plain when southern Babylonia became pro-
gressively deurbanized beginning about the 11th or 12th year of Samsuiluna’s reign
(1643 or 1642 BC)4 (see Stone 1977: 270; Gasche 1989: 134–139, plan 8; Armstrong
and Gasche 2014: 2 and Table 9).
Such migration is reflected in Ghirshman’s Chantier A at Susa, where the number
of domestic burials increased by some 400% between the middle of the 17th cen-
tury and the middle of the 15th century BC. It is also interesting to note that in the
second half of the 16th century BC Babylonian ceramic techniques were introduced
in Susiana (Gasche 2013: 75, Figure 3). Some of the houses where sub-­floor burials
were found also exhibited architectural features that were in common with nearly
contemporaneous houses in southern Babylonia, most notably at Ur. By contrast,
during this same period, with the exception of two infant burials found in servant
quarters, no graves were found below the floors of the large residences uncovered in
Levels A XIV,5 A XIII and A XII (ca. 1640–1440 BC), all having a similar plan and
all being located in the same area of Chantier A. We do not know the names of the
owners of the residences found in Levels A XIV and A XIII, but the archive found in
the A XII residence (Figure 36.2) belonged to a notable Elamite, named Attaru-­uktuh,
who corresponded directly with the sukkalmah.
In the following section we offer observations on funerary practices within the
extensive area described above as they appear in the archaeological documentation
from approximately the mid-­third millennium BC down into the first millennium.
In 1968, Ali Hakemi (1969, 1970; see also Amiet 1973) discovered a large site near
Shahdad, formerly Khabis, a small town located 65 km east of Kerman on the fringes
of the great Lut desert. Erosion and irrigation activities had brought to light many
burials – mostly simple pit graves – in the area called ‘Cemetery A’. A total of 382
graves were excavated without reference to stratigraphic context and dated between
2750 and 2100 BC (Hakemi 1997: 47). Massimo Vidale (2008: 536) and Holly Pitt-
man (1984: 11) have proposed more recent dates, between 2500 and 2000–1800 BC,
but the end of this suggested period may well be later, as a very diagnostic globular
jar found in Shahdad (Hakemi 1997: Figure  20) is paralleled in the Susa Middle
Chronology Sequence of the 18th/early 17th century (Gasche 1973: Pls. 23: 36 and
24: 18).
The skeletons had suffered from highly saline soils, and strong wind erosion scat-
tered or destroyed many graves that were located close to the surface. Despite these
unfavorable conditions, unexpected objects were unearthed: 14 of the graves con-
tained male clay statues in upright or seated position, measuring between 28 and
80 cm high. Three other graves yielded male clay heads. Smaller clay statues of stand-
ing or sitting women – 29 and 31 cm high – were found in three graves, while two
contained female clay heads. Some of the Shahdad statues are painted or show traces
of paint: hair, eyebrows and beard in black, face and body in yellow or dark yellow.
Clay statues have not been found anywhere else in Elamite funerary contexts,
although painted life-­size clay heads of both women and men are attested in 15th
century graves at Susa.6 In addition, in nearby Haft Tepe, ancient Kabnak, two finely
crafted life-­size clay heads – one of a man and one of a woman – and a clay mask of a
man were found in a late 15th century workshop (Negahban 1991: 37–39, Pl. 3a and

743
Figure 36.2  Susa, Ville Royale. Ghirshman’s Chantier A. Levels XII ancien and récent (ca. 1500–1440 BC).
Partially reconstructed plan.
 — Funerary practices —

24). The excavator viewed the clay heads as portraits of king Tepti Ahar (ca. 1400
BC), a contemporary of the Kassite Kadašman-­Ḫarbe I (Cole and De Meyer 1999)
and of his wife, but the similarities these clay heads share with the slightly earlier
examples from Susa suggests they were produced for funerary purposes, whether they
were portraits or not.
In addition, terracotta model buildings were found in six graves at Shahdad, which
Hakemi (1986; 1997: 48) interpreted as model temples. Other offerings consisted of
local plain red ware jars, painted black on buff and orange ware jars, handmade pot-
tery, chlorite vials, beakers, bowls and boxes like those found at Konar Sandal, stone
and metal vessels, copper or bronze tools, weapons, pins and a mirror, one lead (?)
funnel and one lead (?) mace, shells, beads, necklaces and one mat basket. Traces of
textiles may indicate that the deceased had been clothed; in some graves the body was
covered with matting or was laid on some kind of platform.
Some 200 km south of Shahdad is the modern town of Jiroft, located at the north-
ern end of a plain irrigated by the Halil river. A  significant number of sites were
mapped in this plain, one of the most important being the late third, early second mil-
lennium archaeological complex of Konar Sandal with its monumental constructions,
plundered cemeteries and their rich but mainly orphaned steatite or chlorite objects.7
The poor state of conservation of the graves may be the reason why no information
about the position of the skeletons is available. As for finds other than the chlorite
objects, the excavator noted plain and painted vessels paralleled at Shahdad, Tepe
Yahya and Shahr-­i Sokhta, human and animal heads and torsos in marble, bronze
statues of humans and animals, and model temples (?) similar to one of those found
at Shahdad. The recent discovery of possible Elamite linear texts at Tepe Konar San-
dal (Desset 2014) suggests this area may have belonged to the Elamite world.8
About 5.5 km northwest of Konar Sandal (North) is the roughly 75-hectare site
of Qaleh Kutchek, which is composed of several mounds. Islamic, Seleuco-­Parthian,
Achaemenid and possible Bronze Age cemeteries are located outside the ruins to the
east and northeast of the site (Azadi et al. 2012). The Bronze Age graveyard, which
was unexcavated and had been heavily damaged by illicit excavations, may be asso-
ciated with an Elamite community.
At Tepe Yahya, 90  km west of Konar Sandal, no domestic graves were found
during the possible Elamite Period IVA that extended from about 2500 to 2200 BC
(Lamberg-­Karlovsky 1970; Potts 2001).
In 1960–1961, approximately 300 kilometers west of Yahya, Feridun Tavallali
excavated some 20 as-­yet unpublished graves in a cemetery found at the surface of
the prehistoric Tepe Jalyan. Miroschedji (1974: 35) dated the pottery roughly to the
second half of the third millennium BC. Each grave contained one skeleton lying on
its side in a flexed position, the head facing the setting sun. One to five large jars dec-
orated with mono-­or duochrome geometrical and figurative patterns were deposited
with each body. In some graves a drinking vessel with a long spout was found at the
head of the deceased, and three burials yielded copper mirrors.
At Tall-­e Zahhak, 23 km west of Tepe Jalyan, a surface grave probably of a child
buried in a ‘cauldron-­like bowl’ was found by Sir Aurel Stein (1936: 138–140) at the
bottom of the central mound. The grave goods suggest a possible mid-­second millen-
nium BC context.9 Further west, no domestic graves were found by Maurice Pézard
(1914: 39–92) at Bushehr, ancient Liyan.

745
 — H e r m a n n G a s c h e a n d S t e v e n W. C o l e —

Although Tall-­e Malyan, 47 km north of Shiraz, had been known as an archaeo-
logical site since at least the middle of the 19th century, Hansman (1972: 111–124)
was the first to suggest its identification with Anshan. Erica Reiner (1973a) confirmed
this identification on the basis of inscribed bricks found in March  1971 by Ilene
Nicholas (1990: xiii) and Pierre and Battya de Miroschedji. After about 1100 BC, lit-
tle is known from the site. In 1961, Fereydoun Tavalloli briefly excavated at Malyan
for the Archaeological Service of Iran, but there is no report of this work. From
1971 to 1978, the site was excavated by William Sumner (1987–1990, with detailed
bibliography) and in 1999, Kamyar Abdi (2001), University of Michigan, conducted
new investigations. Finally, the Cultural Heritage Organization of Iran and Dart-
mouth College dug at the site in 2004 (Alden et al. 2005). No domestic graves are
mentioned in connection with any of these excavations. However, Elizabeth Carter
(1996: 47) published three apparent surface graves found in Sector EDD. Only Burial
47 is of interest here, as it belongs to the early first millennium BC. The skeleton was
found lying in a semi-­flexed position, with the hands in front of the face. Four pins
found near the neck indicate the deceased was clothed, or wore a shroud. There were
also five bronze or copper bracelets on the arms, beads near the neck suggesting a
necklace and a faience seal near the skull. A broken pot was situated in front of the
forehead, near the left hand. A small pot and a larger one with a modest geometrical
decoration (Carter 1996, Figure 46: 8) were deposited near the right forearm above
the right knee. The last-­mentioned vessel suggests a date around 800 BC based on
the similarity of its shape with that of a pot of the same family found in Susa (Miro-
schedji 1981a: 144, Figure  48: 1 and Pl. XVII: 8). Finally, another small pot was
found near the feet (Carter 1996: Figure  46: 9). According to Daniel T. Potts and
Kourosh Roustaei (2006: 11) this burial ‘provides indirect evidence for the use of the
region by a mostly nomadic population in the early 1st millennium BC’. But as there
was steep population decline during this period (Miroschedji 2003: 19, Figure 3.2;
Carter 1994: 65; Sumner 1987–1990: 318), one cannot exclude the possibility that
the mound was used as a cemetery by the remaining inhabitants.
No burials were found in the stepped test soundings made at the Neolithic to Post-­
Achaemenid Tol-­e Nurabad or at Tol-­e Spid, both sites being situated about 120 kilo-
meters northwest of Shiraz (Potts and Roustaei 2006; Potts et al. 2009).
Excavations took place between 2000 and 2005 (Rezvani et al. 2007) and in 2008
(Jafari 2013) in the cemetery of Lama, located some 50 km northwest of Yasuj. The
site had been damaged in 1999 along with others in the Beshar River Valley10 as a
result of road construction activities there. A total of 74 stone-­walled individual and
collective burials were unearthed in the cemetery. Most had been covered by rubble or
slabs, although some had gabled roofs. A number of the graves had been reused, with
the latest buried individual usually being placed in a flexed position. The grave goods
consisted mainly of pottery, bronze vessels, tools, bronze, iron and stone weapons; ani-
mal bones and even entire animals were found both within and outside some graves.
The excavators conjectured that these burials belonged to a pastoral community and
dated them between the late second and the early first millennium BC but a significant
number of the illustrated pottery examples have earlier parallels in the Susa sequence.11
It turns out that the Lama cemetery remained in use over a relatively long period.
The so-­called Arjan tomb was discovered in 1982 on the left bank of the Marun
River, close to the ruins of the medieval town of Arrajan, as crews did leveling work

746
 — Funerary practices —

associated with the construction of a dam in the vicinity. There is no known con-
temporaneous settlement related to this burial,12 which has been recently re-­dated
between ca. 630 and 550 BC by Javier Álvarez-­Mon (2015). The undisturbed burial
consisted of a three-­sided, stone-­walled, rectangular subterranean funerary chamber
covered with large flat stone slabs (Alizadeh 1985, and more recently Álvarez-­Mon
2010, 2015; Wicks 2015: 24–26, 147–148). The floor and the inner sides of the walls
were coated with a lime mortar. The funerary chamber contained a U-shaped bronze
coffin of a type known also from Jobaji (below), Ur (Wicks 2015: 16–22, 146–147,
with earlier references), Nimrud (Hussein 2016: 29–42, Pls. 100, 101; Wicks 2015:
5–16, 144–146) and at the northwestern Syrian site of Zincirli (Wicks 2015: 30–33,
150),13 but the Arjan coffin is the only known example with a bronze lid. The lid,
however, is preserved solely in fragments. A poorly preserved skeleton of a 40-to-­50-
year-­old man was found lying on its right side in a flexed position. Near the forearms
was an unusual gold ring with flaring engraved disc-­shaped terminals bearing the
inscription Kidin Hutran, son of Kurlush (published by F. Vallat 1984). The same
inscription appears on a bronze candelabrum, a silver jar and a bronze bowl found
outside the coffin. Along the back of the body was a dagger with an iron blade and
an ornamented ivory (?) hilt. In addition, a broken silver tube removed before the
regular excavation of the burial has been hypothetically attributed to the tomb. Near
the feet and under the head were found folded cotton textile fragments, and the upper
body seems to have been covered by a garment. Gold rosettes and discs were found
near the torso. Loops on the reverse sides indicate they were probably attached to
garments. This tomb and the one described next reveal attractive aspects of late Neo-­
Elamite art.
Seven kilometers southeast of the town of Ram Hormuz, on the left bank of the
Ala River and at the northern limit of Tepe Jobaji,14 two U-shaped bronze coffins
(Shishegar 2015; Wicks 2015: 27–30, 148–150) were badly damaged during the
excavation of a pipeline in 2007. Each coffin is reported to have contained a female
skeleton lying on its right side in a flexed position; one is said to have been approx-
imately 17 years old and the other 30–35 years old. A number of metal vessels were
found between the two coffins (Shishegar 2015: 282). Furthermore, the excavation
report lists a rich collection of grave goods found in or outside the coffins, but only
rarely is a precise location mentioned. Among the finds were an inscribed gold ring
similar to the Arjan ring, gold bangles, some with inset semi-­precious stones or with
animal head terminals, gold necklaces, rings, pins, gold and semi-­precious beads,
textiles with gold attachments and a cat’s eye agate set into a gold brooch. The latter
bears the name of the Kassite ruler Kurigalzu I or II (14th century BC) and may well
have originated as booty from an earlier war. Remains of several daggers are also
mentioned. The presence of these weapons lends only tenuous support to the notion
that the two buried persons were women.
Tepe Bormi, on the right bank of the Ala River some 4.5 km southwest of Ram
Hormuz, was a Neo-­Elamite urban center, although Late Susiana, mid-­second millen-
nium, Middle Elamite, Achaemenid and Partho-­Sasanian sherds were counted among
the surface finds (Carter 1971: 274, 277–281; Wright and Carter 2003: Figure 6.7:
a, b, c, e and h).15 No graves are reported at Tepe Bormi and the unexcavated mound
is now extensively covered by modern constructions. A  stone with an inscription
of Amar-­Sin (1952–1944 BC) found on the site mentions the sack of the town of

747
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Huhnur. On this basis Behzad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2005: 171) suggested identifying

the ruin with this town16 but no Ur III material is reported to have been found on the
surface of the mound.
Near the northwest border of the Ram Hormuz plain, 1,500 m south of the Kupal
River, is the multi-­mound complex of Tall-­e Geser, which was explored in 1948 by
Donald E. McCown (1949; see also Perkins 1949: 54. Caldwell 1957–1971; Carter
1971: 256–274; Alizadeh 2014). The site seems to have been first occupied between
the late sixth and the early third millennia, later during the sukkalmah and Middle
Elamite periods and, after another gap, between the Achaemenid and Early Islamic
eras. A  number of earth graves, jar burials and brick-­lined tombs were excavated
(see Alizadeh 2014: Figure 3–7, 9–10, 14–15 and 23), but the stratigraphic relation
between the grave pits and the occupation floors is unclear.17 In the earth and brick-­
lined tombs, the skeleton had been placed in a stretched-­out position, as at Susa
during the 13th century BC, where the practice was not as generalized as in Geser.
No burials are known from the unexcavated Qaleh Tul located some 23 km south
of Izeh, the occupation of which seems to have extended from the late 5th millennium
to the Achaemenid period (Carter 1971: 255, n. 1).
Dur Untash, the Akkadian name of modern Tchogha Zanbil, was built as a royal
town of some hundred hectares by Untash-­Napirisha (ca. 1340–1300 BC) who was
married to a daughter of the Kassite king Burnaburiaš  II (1354–1328) (see Steve
et al. 2002–2003: Tableau 1 and fn. 24 with references).18 The eastern district of the
site shelters the monumental city gate and three palaces. Of these, the so-­called Pal-
ais Hypogée (Ghirshman 1968a: 59–74, plan XI) revealed five subterranean vaulted
monumental brick tombs with their walls sometimes built slightly offset from those
of the palace. This anomaly led Ghirshman (1968a: 60) to consider the possibility
that the tombs were built before the palace, although no detailed stratigraphic anal-
ysis is available. One should also note that three tombs were built below the rooms
of the northwest wing of the Palais, a storage-­like area, while two tombs were found
below the floors of a small domestic district only reachable from the large central
courtyard of the building.
All five tombs had stairways with vaulted, very sloping access. After the interments
in Tombs II to V, the stairway was filled with construction debris (Ghirshman 1968a:
Figure 23: Tombs III and IV, Pl. XXXIX: 2 and 3), while the access to the empty Tomb
I was covered only with a provisional vault of one single course of bricks (Ghirshman
1968a: Figure 23, bottom). Where preserved, a lime mortar protected the inner sides
of both the stairways and the funerary chambers (Ghirshman 1968a: Pls. XXXVII:
5 and XLIII) and bitumen was used to render them impermeable. Tombs II, III and V
had two perpendicular funerary chambers, while I and IV each had one room. Their
lengths ranged from 7.80 m for the smallest (T. V) to 16.90 m for the largest (T. IV).
The widths were mostly around three meters and the heights of the vaults reached
3.70 to 3.90 m.19 Seven clandestine pits were dug into Tombs II, III, IV and V (for
the location of these pits see Ghirshman 1968a: plan XI), but surprisingly, no such
pit had reached Tomb I; therefore, one might assume that the looters knew this tomb
was empty and, by deduction, the plundering of the others occurred shortly after
their construction.
Tchogha Zanbil was abandoned at the latest during the reign of Shutruk-­
Nahhunte (ca. 1190–1155 BC), since this king brought to Susa the steles erected by

748
 — Funerary practices —

Untash-­Napirisha at sian-­kuk.20 In the end, the site was in full use for only a little
over a century. The novelty at Dur Untash, however, is the practice of cremation,
which is rarely attested in the Elamite world. In the first chamber of Tomb II was a
heap of ashes and the half-­burnt bones of three individuals were discovered, while
the second chamber revealed those of five individuals; all were cremated with their
grave goods (Ghirshman 1968a: Pl. XC), which included three “clay olives” inscribed
possibly with a proper name or a title so that the deceased might have an identity in
the afterlife (Steve 1967: 103, no. 61 and Pl. XXI: 1–3). Tomb III contained two heaps
of ashes and burnt bones in each chamber but the surviving grave goods consisted
only of two identical common jars (Ghirshman 1968a: 65, Pl. XC: G.T.-Z. 897). The
one-­room Tomb IV contained a brick platform21 (Ghirshman 1968a: 67, Pl. XLIII)
on top of which were two heaps of ashes and burnt bones apparently collected in a
red painted wool tissue with a bronze bracelet and a number of more or less small
fragments in bitumen, molten glass, bronze, gold, silver and lapis lazuli (respectively
Ghirshman 1968a: p. 67, Pls. XLIV: 1, XCI: G.T.-Z. 972 and p. 67 and 71, Pls. XLIV:
2–3, XCI: G.T.-Z. 971, 975: a and b, 976: a and b, 977, 979 and 980). Beside the
two heaps of ashes was the complete skeleton of a woman who had died at between
40 and 50  years of age (Ferembach 1968). She rested on her left side with flexed
legs, the left hand near the lumbar vertebrae and the right hand under the left cheek.
Close to her feet was a common jar (Ghirshman 1968a: Pl. XCI: G.T.-Z. 986) iden-
tical to those found in Tomb III. Another common jar (Ghirshman 1968a: Pl. XCI:
G.T.-Z. 985), three unbaked high-­footed bowls containing charcoal (Pl. XCI: G.T.-Z.
982–984) and a small common bowl (Pl. XCI: G.T.-Z. 987) were deposited at the
foot of the platform. It seems that the looters of Tomb V22 brought the ashes and
objects to the room above (Ghirshman 1968a: 71) in order to sort through what they
were interested in. Because of the location of the tomb under the so-­called “domestic
wing” of the palace, Ghirshman (1968a: 71) believed that it was the burial place of
the royal family, while he left unanswered the question of the status of the individuals
buried in Tombs I to IV.
Cremations were also observed in the district of the so-­called Entrée Royale,23
which was the only known gate of the town. Three unregistered but probably open
large vessels each contained the burnt bones of a child. No cover and no grave goods
were reported, and one of the burials was at least partially dug into the wall of the
gate. There is no other information about the stratigraphic relation with the build-
ing, which prevents us from proposing a date for the burials. Four earth graves and
three subterranean one-­room vaulted mud-­brick tombs were excavated outside the
central Temenos district (Ghirshman 1968a, 101–107; see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a,
Figure 8 for the location of the three vaulted mud brick tombs). The three mud-­brick
tombs were similar in shape, with a pit-­like access and a deeper funerary chamber
also coated with lime mortar. However, the upper parts of their vaults were shattered.
Access to the funerary chamber of both Tombs 1 and 2 was blocked by a large stone
slab, while access to Tomb 3 was open. According to the pottery therein, the three
tombs are contemporaneous and belong to the occupation period of the site (late
14th and 13th centuries BC).
Tomb 1 is located in the southeast district, near the temple of Nusku. It contained
two skeletons, each in a semi-­flexed position, the hands in front of the face, lying
on a platform built along the long walls of the chamber. One of the deceased was

749
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wearing a necklace of semi-­precious stone beads (Ghirshman 1968a: 104, Pls. LXIV:
4 and XCVIII: G.T.-Z. 1119), and two stone seals (Porada 1970: Nos. 161–162)
were found nearby. The second individual had been entombed with an inscribed lapis
lazuli cylinder seal bearing the name of its owner (Ghirshman 1968a: 104; inscrip-
tion in Reiner 1970: 137, No. 109), four bronze bracelets and two rings (Ghirshman
1968a: 104, Pl. XCVIII: G.T.-Z. 1118a-­d). A  bronze lamp and three common jars
(Ghirshman 1968a: Figure 43, Pl. XCVIII: G.T.-Z. 1120 and 1121a-­b) were dispersed
across the chamber (Ghirshman 1968a: 104, Pls. LXIV: 4 and XCVIII: G.T.-Z. 1119).
Tomb 2 is situated on the opposite side of the town, near what Ghirshman inter-
preted as a water reservoir.24 The disturbed skeletons of at least three individuals were
found on platforms built along the three walls of the chamber. A necklace of semi-­
precious stone beads, two silver braided hair rings, two bronze rings, and a small
object in flint (Ghirshman 1968a, Figure 44, Pl. XCVIII; G.T.-Z. 1123 and 1122a-­c)
were discovered among the human bones on the northeast platform, while a bronze
bracelet – covered with an elaborated bronze sheet – and two hollow bronze anklets
were found on the southeast platform (Ghirshman 1968a: Figure  44, Pl. XCVIII:
G.T.-Z. 1125 and 1126). Some broken objects were uncovered on the third plat-
form, and 14 identical common jars were found in various locations in the chamber
(Ghirshman 1968a: Figure 44, Pl. XCVIII: G.T.-Z. 1127 and 1124).
Tomb 3 is located in the same district as Tomb 2 but at some distance inside
the northern corner of the city wall. On the platform in the back of the chamber a
single skeleton was found lying in a flexed position, along with bones of a second
individual, while the remains of at least seven skeletons were found on the adjacent
platform of the long side of the chamber. Two bronze rings, three semi-­precious stone
beads, three bowls, three oval shaped lamps and 25 common jars constituted the
grave goods (Ghirshman 1968a: Figure 45 and Pl. XCIX: G.T.-Z. 1128, 1129, 1133,
1130–1132 and 1134–1136).
Finally, four earth graves were excavated in a test trench dug near the Palais
Hypogée. However, these belong to the late 12th and 11th centuries and show that
the site was used for interments after it had been deurbanized.
Seven and a half kilometers northeast of Tchogha Zanbil, on the right bank of the
conjoined Loreh and Gelal Rivers, is the trapezoidal shaped Tepe Dehno, some 20 m
in height and 5 ha in area (aerial view in Steve 1987: Pl. I: 2). The town seems to
have been occupied during the first half of the fourth millennium BC, the mid-­third
millennium, the early-­and mid-­second millennium, and in the Parthian period (Steve
1987: 11–13). Strong rainfall erosion on the southeast side of the mound led Mofidi-­
Nasrabadi (2013) to excavate in this area, where he found a vaulted brick tomb that
most probably belongs to the late sukkalmah – early Middle Elamite periods.25 Three
skulls and some postcranial bones – one of them with a ring – and 12 pots were found
inside the tomb, while sheep or goat bones together with fragments of a large vessel
were found in the grave pit.
Haft Tepe, ancient Kabnak, is located 13 km southeast of Susa. Ezat O. Negahban
(1969, 1991) excavated large areas of the site between 1965 and 1979 following the
fortuitous discovery of a brick wall that proved to belong to a building that Negah-
ban arbitrarily interpreted as the Tomb-­Temple Complex of Tepti Ahar (Negahban
1991: 7–9, 20–22, Pls. 6–8),26 a possible contemporary of the late 15th century Kas-
site king Kadashman-­Harbe I (Cole and De Meyer 1999). Bezad Mofidi-­Nasrabadi

750
 — Funerary practices —

(2012a: 266) also thought that Tepti Ahar built the Complex of Tepti Ahar, although
he favored a later date for the actual deposition of the bodies. Some 25 years later
Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2012a: Figs. 3–4) conducted a geomagnetic survey of the site that
revealed large monumental buildings west and southeast of Negahban’s field activ-
ities. He also excavated in three new areas (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2010a, 2011, 2012a,
2012b and 2014).
In the slightly older, small, dwelling-­like district located west of the Tomb-­Temple
Complex Negahban (1991: 22–23) found a pottery sarcophagus (Negahban 1991:
22, Pls. 19: a-­b and 20: a),27 jar burials containing or covering the deceased (Negah-
ban 1991: 22, Pl. 19: c) and earth graves (Negahban 1991: 23, Pls. 20: b and 21).
However, no precise stratigraphic information is at hand. Negahban attributed the
Tomb-­Temple Complex to king Tepti Ahar (and his family) based on a large fragment
of an inscribed stele found in the courtyard of the building. However, according to
Erica Reiner (1973b) this stele simply derived from a royal tomb. There is no allusion
to a Temple in the inscription. On the other hand, Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2012a) drew
parallels with the Palais Hypogée of Tchogha Zanbil.
The two adjacent northern rooms of the building each contained a vaulted brick
tomb (Negahban 1991: 20–22, color Pl. 2: 2, plans 2–4; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a:
265, Figure 9; 266, Figure 11). The larger northeastern tomb (Negahban 1991: plan
4, incorrectly oriented; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012a: Figure 1; 2012b: Figure 12, correct
orientation) contained a long but low platform28 with two long sections separated by
a short one. In the long sections and in the southwest corner of the funerary chamber
were the remains of some 20 skeletons, of both adults and children, mostly found in
flexed or semi-­flexed position. The overall picture suggests successive depositions,
although the individuals found in the southwest corner of the chamber seem to have
been laid down hurriedly near the entrance. The slightly smaller adjacent tomb pres-
ents a different picture. Fourteen individuals had been laid out side by side in more or
less stretched-­out positions; another nine skeletons had been placed on the chests and
lower limbs of the former individuals. The orderly arrangement seems to indicate that
all the individuals were buried together following an unusual event. Unfortunately,
no study of the skeletons is available. No grave goods are reported from these two
brick tombs, a circumstance which increases the likelihood that the bodies therein
had been hastily laid to rest. According to Mofidi-­Nasrabadi’s (2012b: 99, Tab. 4)
chronostratigraphic reconstruction the tombs were built during his Bauschicht III
following a destruction observed in Areal I, II and III of his excavations.
Finally, Mofidi-­Nasrabadi excavated 22 Middle Elamite earth and jar-­burials, one
sarcophagus and one Scherbengrab.29 These were all dug into or near the ruins of
the so-­called Complex C and the more southern Administrative Building. A second
sarcophagus was found in an already uninhabited house located next to the Adminis-
trative Building (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2011, esp. p. 152; Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b: 58,
91–92, Grab 14; 95, Tab. 1 and 97). It contained an adult in a semi-­flexed position,
his skull and shoulder protected by a large broken jar. The grave goods were mostly
found in the covered area of the tub and consisted of three small globular ceramic
jars – a fragment of the same type was found near the pelvis –, one bronze cup, one
glazed pyxis, two bronze rings, three silver pins, a number of gold and stone beads
supposedly belonging to a necklace. Also among the grave goods were two Elamite
cylinder seals with Akkadian inscriptions bearing the name Ginadu, a high official

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 — H e r m a n n G a s c h e a n d S t e v e n W. C o l e —

of the king Inšušinak-­sunkir-­nappipir. According to Mofidi-­Nasrabadi, none of the

graves he excavated at Haft Tepe were dug below occupation floors.
The lowland metropolis Susa – founded around 4000 BC on the eastern bank of
the perennial Karkheh River – shows a different picture. Several hundred third and
second millennia BC burials were found by Roland de Mecquenem on the mound
called Apadana, east of Darius I’s palace (Mecquenem 1922: 117–123; for location of
this operation, see Steve and Gasche 1996: Figure 1; see also Tavernier 2013); and at
the Donjon (Mecquenem 1943: 74–137), the southern district of the Ville Royale. We
will not consider these burials, however, because of insufficient stratigraphic informa-
tion. For similar reasons, we will not deal with Ghirshman’s mid-­second millennium
burials found in a trench opened in the 1950s at the very northern edge of the Apad-
ana mound (for the location of this operation, see Steve et al. 2002–2003: Figure 5,
no. 24 and for the unusual way this excavation took place, see Steve and Gasche 1990:
fn. 7). Also, because there are insufficient field records of the burials found in Levels
XI, X and IX (ca. 1440–1125 BC) of Ghirshman’s Chantier A in the Ville Royale we
consider here only the burials excavated in Level XV to Level XII (ca. 1700–1440
BC), for which we do have detailed stratigraphic information. Finally, Ghirshman
transferred his activities to Chantier B after natural soil was reached in the western
area of Level XV of Chantier A.30 In Chantier B he attempted to complete the second
millennium stratigraphy on one of the platforms of Mecquenem’s enormous IIe chan-
tier (see topographic sketch and over-­simplified cross section in Mecquenem 1934:
178, Figure 1, 219 Figure 64). In this area Ghirshman excavated portions of private
houses dating to the mid-­20th to mid-­16th centuries BC (for a preliminary report, see
Ghirshman 1968b; for a revised stratigraphy, Gasche 1973: 10–11 and Armstrong
and Gasche 2014: Table 9). We will not deal with the burial data from Chantier B,
however, because this evidence is much more limited and therefore much less infor-
mative than the evidence from Chantier A.31
Level XII récent and XII ancien (ca. 1500–1440 BC): 48 burials were uncovered
in 15 houses of a total of at least 22 (see Figure 36.2). A brick tomb revealed two
bitumen painted clay eyes found at some distance from the skull. There were eight
life-­size painted clay heads in two other brick tombs. One of these tombs was found
in a small, elongated building with no preserved entrance on the west side of the
Chantier and was disturbed by an Islamic well. The second tomb was uncovered
in the evacuation trench leading to the dump on the opposite side of the Chantier
and was well preserved. It contained three inhumations. The first is evidenced by
a fragment of a clay head with a few human bones shoved to the side. The sec-
ond and third are evidenced by the skeletons of a man and a woman, each with a
painted clay head deposited on the skull (Ghirshman 1964: 10, Figs. 23–24; 1965:
5, Figs. 11–14. Amiet 1966: Figure 347). This practice continued in Level XI, where
a painted but less nicely crafted clay head of a woman was uncovered in an earth
grave. This head, however, was found on the abdomen of the deceased, the face
turned down.
Level XIII (ca. 1570–1500 BC): 24 burials were found in 11 houses of a total of
at least 22. In addition, two burials had been dug below public domains but close
to the houses’ facades and one burial was found in an area disturbed by later large
pits. In a brick tomb two life-­size bitumen painted clay eyes were found near the left
shoulder of one of the two undisturbed skeletons (Ghirshman 1965: 5, Figs. 15: 4 and

752
 — Funerary practices —

18: above).32 However, Ghirshman’s (1965: 5) hypothesis that these eyes were part of
a mask is unsupported by the evidence.
Level XIV (ca. 1640–1570 BC): 12 burials were uncovered in five houses of a total
of at least 10.
Level XV (ca. 1700–1640 BC): five fetuses or newborn babies were buried together
below the floor of one house, and an older child was found below another house. The
floors of Level XV, however, were not thoroughly investigated (see above).
Level Pre-­XV (ca. 1750–1700 BC): no burials were discovered but the area exca-
vated was small.
The reader will observe that there was a 400% increase in the number of domestic
burials between Levels XIV and XII (ca. 1640–1440 BC), coinciding with the period
when southern Babylonia was progressively deurbanized beginning in year 11 or 12
of the reign of Samsuiluna, king of Babylon between 1653 and 1616 BC (Armstrong
and Gasche 2014: 2 and Table 9). Moreover, these burials were found only in the
smaller houses in these levels. No burials were found under the large residences,
which most probably belonged to Elamite notables,33 with the exception of a fetus or
newborn baby and an infant less than one year old interred in the service areas of the
large Level XIII residence on the eastern extremity of Chantier A. These were perhaps
the children of local servants. In summary, eight painted clay heads and two pairs of
clay eyes were found in four burials. All belonged to Levels XII and XIII. These clay
heads and eyes are the only such items from recorded stratigraphic contexts. Those
found by Mecquenem have no context; we do not even know where they originated.
The deposition of such items with deceased individuals is reminiscent of the earlier
practice evidenced in the Shahdad cemetery, where painted life-­size clay busts and
heads were unearthed in contexts dating at least some 150  years earlier. The two
life-­size clay heads and clay mask uncovered in a late 15th century workshop at Haft
Tepe may have been crafted for similar purposes. The practice of placing effigies in
tombs is relatively widespread in the ancient Near East. Their purpose is obscure,
although one can imagine that the heads and eyes were meant to lend perception to
the deceased in the afterlife.
The ruins of Tepe Sharafabad, which cover an area of about two hectares, is
located some 15  km northeast of Susa and two  kilometers east of the Dez River.
Excavations conducted in 1971 (Schacht 1975; Schacht and Wright 2010) revealed a
relatively continuous occupation between ca. 5500 and 2800 BC and, in our opinion,
between the 17th and the early 14th centuries BC based on the published pottery and
terra cottas (Schacht 1975: Figure 6, 7 and 9: a-­f). Apart from late surface graves, no
burials under occupation floors are mentioned.
Excavations at the North Mound of Tchogha Mish revealed an “Old Elamite”
fort of some 95 m by 140 m with some occupational remains (Delougaz and Kantor
1996: 18–25). The most characteristic sherds found in the fort are paralleled in the
Susa sequence of the early/middle sukkalmah period (Delougaz and Kantor 1996:
Pls. 77: A, J and 78: A-G. See Gasche 1973: Pls. 3: 7; 23: 28; 25: Levels B V and VI).
No burials are related to the fort, but two undated graves, both unpublished, were
dug into the southern slope of the North Mound (Delougaz and Kantor 1996: 22).
Along the piedmont, some 95 km northwest of Susa, Gautier and Lampre (1905)
excavated at Tepe Musyan and also surveyed a number of sites in the surround-
ing area. At Musyan itself, two burials of probable mid-­second millennium date are

753
 — H e r m a n n G a s c h e a n d S t e v e n W. C o l e —

mentioned, but there is no stratigraphic information available. In 1977, east of Tepe

Musyan, Miroschedji (Miroschedji 1981b: 172–174, 184, Figure 60; 1986: 216–220,
Figures 1–4) conducted a survey in the part of the Patak plain that is situated along
the left bank of the Duwairij River. According to the published report, there were five
or six Middle Elamite sites in this region, including Tepe Patak, but no burials are
mentioned.
Some 12 km north-­northwest of Tepe Musyan, on the left bank of the Mehmeh
River (= Tib River in Iraq), lies the site of Farukhabad, where the excavators uncov-
ered three burials in the second-­millennium BC layers (Wright 1981: 197–198). Abu
Sheeja, ancient Pašime34 has been recently localized on the Mehmeh River, some
7.5  km inside present-­day Iraq. Pottery of the mid-­sukkalmah period35 was found
in a pit and in a grave dug into the debris of a possible Akkadian-­and Ur III-period
temple dedicated to the Elamite god Šuda, which perhaps reflects a tradition of using
abandoned sacred places for burying the dead.
In conclusion, the Elamites did not bury their dead below the floors of their houses
– except at Susa, where Mesopotamian influence was often pronounced.

NOTE S
1 A clay tag or label found more to the east, at Tepe Hissar, has three inscribed signs or
symbols that are unlikely to be Proto-­Elamite (Dyson 1987: 659).
2 The only pre-­Parthian site in this area is the fourth millennium Tall-­i Pir, located 20 km
off the coast, behind a mountain range running east of the Partho-­Islamic settlement and
grave complex of Siraf, ancient Taheri. Second and first millennium BC remains from
Qeshm Island, southwest of Bandar Abbas, have been reported by Rad (1969–70), but no
other information is available. The opposite Arabian coast, by contrast, has been settled
since the 7th millennium (Rice 1994: 327–331, Beech et al. 2016). However, because
present climatic and marine conditions point to the possible existence of harbors on the
Iranian coast (see for example During Caspers 1971: Figure 1), new surveys of the eastern
littoral of the Gulf might yield interesting results.
3 See also hereafter the ambiguous situation at Tall-­e Geser.
4 All dates introduced hereafter refer to the chronology proposed in Gasche et al. 1998.
Supporters of the Middle Chronology must add 96 years to the dates of the First Dynasty
of Babylon and 93 years to those of the Third Dynasty of Ur.
5 The earlier residence of Level A XV was only partly excavated.
6 For a well-­preserved example found by Mecquenem at Susa, see Amiet 1966: Figure 350.
For an inventory of the heads found at Susa and Haft Tepe, see Álvarez-­Mon 2005.
7 The Musée du Louvre analyzed the steatite/chlorite objects found at Susa and established
that they are chlorite (Miroschedji 1973, fn. 3; see also his Figures 6 and 13 for the distri-
bution in Iran, southern Mesopotamia and the Gulf area before the discoveries at Jiroft).
For the grave goods, see Madjidzadeh 2003a, 2003b; Perrot 2003; Cleuziou 2003; Perrot
and Madjidzadeh 2005; Madjidzadeh and Pittman 2008. However, Muscarella (2001:
182–189) and Amiet (2002: 96) draw attention to a number of forgeries or probable
forgeries among the objects published by Madjidzadeh (2003a) who, in turn, defends
their authenticity (Madjidzadeh and Pittman 2008: fn. 19). In addition, Amiet (2002)
strongly rules out Madjidzadeh’s (2003a: 6) offhand hypothesis that a considerable part
of the Sumerian art may have originated in southeastern Iran, in the region of the present
province of Kerman.
8 According to Steinkeller (2006: fn. 4), Madjidzadeh’s (1976; 2003a: 12, 19) attempts to
locate the mythical land of Aratta in the region of Jiroft is completely unlikely.

754
 — Funerary practices —

9 See Stein 1936, Pls. XI: Figure 10; XIX: 8; XX: 17–20; XXIX: 42. The sherds illustrated
on Pls. XXVIII: 5 and XXIX: 1 (glass) and 29 are not grave goods but were probably
displaced by erosion.
  The ‘cauldron-­like bowl’, could be related to the large vessels of Group 35, Variant b of
Gasche 1973, 49–50, Pl. 44 = Group 265 A 3 of Armstrong and Gasche 2014, 69, Pl. 124.
10 Taj Amir (excavated in 2012, see www.berasad.com/fa/content/view/10214/), Mahmoud-
abad, Dorhan, Chenar Barm and possibly more, see Jafari 2013: 59.
11 For Rezvani et al. 2007, p. 83: 11, compare Gasche 1973: Pl. 31: 4 and for p. 83: 17, com-
pare Gasche 1973: Pl. 14: 12; for Rezvani et al. 2007, p. 99: 4, see Gasche 1973: Pl. 20: 2.
For Jafari 2013, Figure 20: 7105289, see Gasche 1973: Pl. 22: 26. The Susa parallels are
dated between the mid-­16th and the early 14th centuries BC.
12 See Gaube (2011) for the history and dating of the medieval town. According to Tawhidi
and Khalilian (1982: 242), prehistoric pottery was found at the surface of the medieval
mound, but there was no material contemporaneous with the burial.
13 Other comparable coffins or fragments – mostly unexcavated – were found in Susa or said
be found near Khorramabad (certainly not Parthian in date as written in www.cais-­soas.
com/News/2006/April2006/07-04.htm), in northwest Iran (including one at Ziwiye), in
north Iran (Amlash area) and in eastern Anatolia.
14 Tepe Jobaji is a large site consisting of several mounds with Middle Elamite, Neo-­Elamite
and possibly Achaemenid sherds, see Alizadeh 2014: 240–241, 291 (RH-058), Pl. 51
(location) and 120 (surface pottery). See also Shishegar 2015, Henkelman 2008: 32, fn.
82 and Álvarez-­Mon 2013: 467–468.
15 During a survey conducted in 1977, Miroschedji (1981b: 170 and fn. 10) found a frag-
ment of brick with a Neo-­Elamite inscription at Tepe Bormi. The inscription was pub-
lished by Vallat in 1981. Another six mounds of the western Ram Hormuz plain were also
occupied during the Middle Elamite period (Wright and Carter 2003: Figure 6.6).
16 Followed by Álvarez-­Mon (2010: 204) and Henkelman (2008: 17, fn. 29, 245). Alizadeh
(2014: 238, fn. 84) doubts this identification but formulates no other hypothesis. Duchêne
(1986) suggests locating Huhnur at Arrajan.
17 On the maps, the graves are shown with the layers in which they were found, not with
those from which they were dug.
18 Tchogha Zanbil lies 33 km southeast of Susa on the northern edge of the Haft Tepe anti-
cline (see Cole and Gasche 2007: Figure 68) close to, but some 35 to 40 m above, the Dez
River. The site was sounded between 1936–1939 and during a few days in 1946 by Mec-
quenem and Michalon (1953: 1–5), widely excavated by Ghirshman between 1951 and
1962, and has been reinvestigated since 1999 by Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2007) in the frame
of a unesco Project for the preservation of the monument (see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi’s plan 2
for the location of his excavated areas A, B and C and plans 3 to 9 for the location of the
districts he surveyed).
19 All measures are those of Ghirshman’s published plans, not those given in his descriptions,
often inaccurate.
20 For the equivalence Dur Untash  =  siyan-­kuk see König (1977: 75–76) and Grillot and
Vallat (1978: fn. 3).
21 Compare the platform found in the northeast burial of the so-­called Tomb-­Temple Com-
plex of Tepti Ahar at Haft Tepe.
22 The vaults of the stairway of the first funerary chamber were partly destroyed (Ghirshman
1968a: 71, Figure 30 and Pl. XLV: 1).
23 They are only mentioned on plan XV of Ghirshman 1968a.
24 See now the arguments of Mofidi-­Nasrabadi (2007: 25–28) and Badamchi (2015) for a
different interpretation of this structure.

755
 — H e r m a n n G a s c h e a n d S t e v e n W. C o l e —

25 Compare Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: Pl. 10: D.N. 12–1227–59 and 60 with Negahban 1991:
Figure 3: 31 and Gasche 1973: Pl. 21: 28 (late Level A XIII = ca. 1500 BC) and Pl. 22: 3
(Level A XII = ca. 1500–1440 BC). Carter’s (1979) attempt to re-­date Ghirshman’s second
millennium Levels XIII to IX of Chantier A (see Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2013: 102 and fn. 21)
was firmly rejected 36 years ago by Steve et al. 1980: 49–65.
26 Tepti Ahar was probably the last of the “Kidinuid” rulers (Steve et al. 2002–2003: 452–
457). However, the succession, eventual filiation and lengths of the reigns of the “Kidi-
nuids” are unknown. Although Haft Tepe was a significant Middle Elamite urban center,
the pottery found by Negahban shows that the site was already occupied at least during
the 19th and the early 18th centuries BC: compare, for example, Negahban (1991: 30,
Figs. 8: 77–83 and Pl. 23: 84) with Gasche 1973: Pl. 25: B V-VI. See now Armstrong and
Gasche (2014: 12 and Table 9) for the chronology of B V and B VI. A recent interpretation
of the chronology of the Middle Elamite occupation at Haft Tepe is based on 25 C14
analyses (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2015). Unfortunately, the results are not homogenous and are
hardly convincing.
27 This type of sarcophagus is attested from the 19th to the early 16th centuries BC in the
still unpublished graves excavated in Levels B VI to A XIV at Susa.
28 Compare the platform found in Tomb IV of the Palais Hypogée at Tchogha Zanbil.
29 A further incomplete skeleton of a 30–35 year old woman (?) was found next to a wall
that seems to be contemporaneous with Negahban’s Tomb-­Temple Complex of Tepti Ahar
(Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b: Tab. 4); the skeleton was progressively covered with later debris
and no grave pit was noted (Mofidi-­Nasrabadi 2012b: 94 and Pl. 35: 6). For a view of a
great number of skeletal remains heaped up in a street between the dwellings of the final
building layer of the town, see also www.pasthorizonspr.com/index.php/archives/11/2015/
archaeologists-­uncover-­human-­tragedy-­at-­ancient-­elamite-­site-­of-­haft-­tappeh.
30 Older houses appeared in a small area of this level. These houses were later considered to
belong to a Level ‘Pre-­XV’ (Armstrong and Gasche 2014: 12 and Table 9). However, they
contained no burials.
31 One should consider the following listing as approximate, as many of the houses extended
beyond the limits of Chantier A. Furthermore, some of the numbers are slightly different
from those of Gasche (2013: 77) due to a reexamination of the data.
32 These eyes did not belong to a clay head as maintained by Spycket 1992: 136, No. 85.
33 The large Level XII residence on the east side of Chantier A (Figure 36.2), for example,
belonged to a man named Attaru-­uhtuh, who was almost certainly an important Elamite
notable based on the evidence of his correspondence with the sukkalmah (Steve et al. 1980:
126–127). This house rests on older Level XIII and XIV houses with a very similar plan.
34 Pašime was formerly localized along the northeastern coast of the Gulf (Steinkeller 1982:
240–243. Vallat 1993: CXXVI-CXXVII).
35 Compare Hussein et al. 2010: Figures 54 and 55 with respectively Gasche 1973: Pls. 24:
21 and 11.

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 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

WOMEN OF ELAM

Aurelie Daems

INTRODU CTIO N
The discussion of women in the Elamite world is a potentially charged one. The areas
and eras under consideration are vast, the evidence is relatively scarce, and the focus
is traditionally placed on royal imagery and texts. This chapter attempts to present
a status quaestionis of certain aspects of women in Elam and raise hitherto unprec-
edented questions, hoping to open new avenues for future research into Elamite
women. Direct evidence in the form of artistic and textual remains are adduced, as
well as indirect evidence such as the remains of household activities and even craft
specialization, which may give insights into aspects of women’s activities within Elam.
What has been excavated and researched is not always an accurate reflection of
times past but rather of the selective focus of investigation. In the case of Elam,
discourses have centered on royal lineages, elite and divine residences, sumptuous
statuary, and monumental rock reliefs, and they have generally failed to speak of the
participation of women in society. On the rare occasions that they do, they tend to
favor an extremely small percentage of the population – the mothers, wives, sisters,
and daughters of the royal houses who pedestalled the kingly grandeur of Elam  –
hindering the formation of a more holistic picture. The largest portion of the female
population would have been engaged in mundane, religious, ritual and festive activ-
ities that confirmed or (re)negotiated their gendered roles. As well as the traditional
“female” tasks of nursing and childrearing, their roles would have extended far
beyond to activities such as tending animals, harvesting crops, milling grain, prepar-
ing food, spinning, weaving textiles and baskets, making jewelry, processing ceramics,
and perhaps trading these goods. Potentially they had even been engaged in activities
generally associated with men, such as scribal work and other specialized crafts. The
relative poverty of our knowledge about the lives of Elamite women is an imbalance
that future research should attempt to redress.

NAKED WO M E N
Imagery of Elamite women, ranging from small statuettes to large rock-­cut reliefs,
offers a valuable source of direct evidence for their study. Yet the depicted women
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remain largely mute since, with the occasional royal or elite exception, we cannot
connect them with contemporary texts or inscriptions, or to their specific role or
purpose. At best their posture and dress inform us of the fashion that was ascribed to
them or favored throughout the Elamite period.
By far the majority of female Elamite imagery is represented by the small, por-
table, and easily disposed of, naked, semi-­dressed, or fully adorned figurines found
in the urban centers of Susa, Anshan, Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha, and Kabnak (Daems
2005). From the Old-­Elamite through to the Middle-­Elamite period, there was a
large and increasing production of these statuettes, first by hand and later, from the
Shimashki period onwards, via a single and double mold (Spycket 1986: 80). Most
of these figurines were found littering the streets of Susa (Ghirshman 1968b), near
the temple of Inshushinak (Amiet 1966: 424, Figure  322), or close to the temple
dedicated to the Elamite goddess Pinikir at Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha (Orthmann 1975:
Figure 22, Spycket 1992: Pl. 157, Figure 1374–1375 and Ghirshman 1968b: Pl. VIII,
Figure 4–5). Occasionally at Susa they were found inside a child’s grave of undeter-
mined sex (Spycket 1992: Pl. 25: 140). Naked or semi-­naked female statuettes were
found by the hundreds, but the debate concerning their possible meaning remains
open. It is certain, however, that the clasping of the hands together in front of the
stomach or at chest height seen on these and the dressed statuettes is a gesture of
respect or worship commonly depicted in the Elamite world. We will see this gesture
continuing right through to the Neo-­Elamite period, especially in rock relief carvings
(below).
The earlier hand-­made images of naked women were tubular, meant to stand
upright, and received detailing recto and verso. It appears that the shaping of a
“female concept” was more important in the production of these figurines than
the rendering of a realistic “femininity”, if such a concept had existed. Once the
mold was introduced, they became flatter and two-­dimensional, with increasing
details accentuating their femininity. The rendering of bodily and facial features
evolved from the use of plain incisions, gashes, and punctures to mark mouths,
navels, buttocks, pubic triangle, and legs in an archaic fashion, towards more
refined applications of sometimes painted bands and pellets of incised clay rep-
resenting earrings, bracelets, and braids of hair twisted around the head (Sumner
1974: 170–171, Figure 11g, I, m, p). Also represented were necklaces covering a
large part of an otherwise bare torso (Spycket 1992: Pl. 25: 140), or embroidered
and geometrically decorated caps that protected or enhanced the hairdo (Spycket
1992: Pl. 122, Figure 1057). On some of the naked figurines, a clay belt is laced
around the breasts and crossed at the back. This baudrier, as it is often referred
to (Spycket 1992: Pl. 22: 128), is a type of brassière that could have been made
from textile or leather straps and appears in Susa during the Shimaski period, but
is attested in neighboring southern Mesopotamia since the Ubaid period (Daems
2010). The most highly elaborated naked and semi-­naked female figurines date
from the Middle Elamite period, when lavishly molded images of women who
cup their breasts and at times have overly exaggerated thighs were produced (e.g.,
Figure  37.1b-­d) (e.g., Spycket 1992: Pl. 129, Figure  1130–1133). After this, the
production of naked Elamite female figurines appears to reduce substantially in
number.

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Figure 37.1  [a] clay funerary head from Susa; [b-­d] naked female terracotta
figurines from Susa (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

DRESSING UP THE E L AM ITE WAY

Similarly dressed statuettes of women inform us on the ways Elamite women clothed
and adorned themselves. Some exceptions left aside, conservatism in fashion prevails.
The female statuettes found in the larger centers show that some women dressed in

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relatively delicate and at times elaborately produced fabrics (e.g., Spycket 1992: Pl.
132, Figure 1158–1160). Throughout the Elamite period, there are at least five rather
standard types of clothes worn by women. These may have been markers of status,
age, or gender, or indicate participation in festive, religious, or mundane activities.
The kaunakes dress or crinoline, known from 3rd millennium Mesopotamia through
to the Bactria-­Margiana sphere (Ghirshman 1963: Figure 1), was the most depicted
type of dress from the Proto-­Elamite through to the Sukkalmah period (e.g., Spycket
1992: Pl. 131, Figure 1144–1147). This woolen, cloak-­like garment displayed pat-
terns of horizontal stripes and tongues, was worn by men, women, and gods alike,
and is referenced on many statuettes and seals.
From the Shimashki to the Middle Elamite period, women also wore fabrics in the
shape of fine, sometimes dotted shirts (Negahban 1991: Pl. 26, Figure 184) and wrap-
around skirts with decorated heavy hems covering a larger skirt underneath (Spycket
1992: Pl. 132, Figures  1158–1165). Women are also shown wearing short-­sleeved
long dresses with dotted motives and borders enhanced with geometrical designs
(Spycket 1992: Pl. 156, Figure 1370), and they often wear necklaces with a pendant
resting on their chest (e.g., Spycket 1992: Pl. 132, Figures 1158–1184). The rendering
of dots on clothing from the Shimaski period onwards is a phenomenon that seems
exclusively Elamite: no similar Mesopotamian garment is known (e.g., Figure 37.2c)
(Pittman 2003: 180). A  very sumptuous dress, perhaps restricted to elite Elamite
women because it was recovered on a single shell statuette from Susa (Figure 37.2b),
is known from the Sukkalmah-­period. It consists of one long, amply decorated shawl
covering the whole body, and partly draped under the arms and shoulders (Harper
1992: 95, Figure 59). The neck and wrists are adorned with necklaces and bangles,
and thick carvings around the elbows and from the nape of the neck to the back
of the legs, suggest this statuette was inlaid with material representing additional
jewelry that is now lost. Several Middle Elamite clay figurines from Susa display this
type of necklace, which runs along the back of the body (Spycket 1992: Pl. 137, Fig-
ure 1205–1206) and seems to be a strictly female accessory.
From the Middle to the Neo-­Elamite period, women and men sometimes wore
shawls with large fringes over the shoulders, crossing at the chest to form a “v”
(Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 7), or they wore skirts topped by a short-­sleeved shirt in the
form of a bolero or cape fixed with decorative pins. Although several Elamite dress
types have been discussed and described in great detail (e.g., Álvarez-­Mon 2009;
2010a), it is still not clear if these fabrics were produced locally or were imported
from one center to another, and whether or not Elamite women played a part in their
making, sewing, dying, or trading.
Elamite hairstyles of men and women evolve over time, but like dress seem to be
rather conservative. Characteristic is a visor coiffure facing outwards from the front,
which is especially clear on Middle Elamite funerary heads and on Neo Elamite rock-­
cut reliefs connected to the elite (see below). Deducing from the many female figu-
rines and statues, Elamite women either donned a short, pageboy-­style hairdo that
covered the ears (Spycket 1992: Pl. 157, Figures 1374–1375 and Ghirshman 1968b:
Pl. VIII, Figures 4–5), or they braided their hair, after which they wrapped it around
the head, topping the braid with a type of cap or turban affixed by a decorative band
(Spycket 1992: Pl. 73: Figure M14 and Pl. 84: 719), with a frontal bulge to which
a medallion-­style ornament could be affixed. Facial features of Elamite women are

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Figure 37.2  [a] painted clay head from Kabnak; [b] ivory figurine from Susa;
[c] faience figurine from Choga Zanbil (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

first rendered crudely, as is visible on Proto-­Elamite, possibly worshipping, alabaster

statuettes (Amiet 1976: Pl. XVIII, Figures 3–4). Throughout all periods, the eyes are
large and almond-­shaped and during the Middle Elamite period at times accentuated
through the use of pigments and paint.

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ELITE ELAMITE WO M E N
Evidence of elite women within Elamite society is by far the richest. The oldest evi-
dence for Elamite female power or access to power comes from glyptic art. It is a seal
from Akkadian-­period Susa reportedly showing two women and a goddess, sepa-
rated by an inscription (Amiet 1972: Pl. 153, Figure 1637). So-­called Anshanite seals,
named after the city of Anshan from which they are reported to have come, carry
more direct evidence for powerful women during the Shimashki and Sukkalmah peri-
ods (Carter 2014: 42). Some of the women depicted on these seals were identified as
queens based on accompanying Sumerian inscriptions. One represents Ebarat I in a
kaunakes dress with one bare shoulder (Carter 2014: 42) offering flowers or streams
to the woman facing him, the beloved queen mentioned in the inscription (Lam-
bert 1979: 1, Pl. V, Figure 42 E). On similar seals (Amiet 1980: 164, Figure 2c and
Porada 1990: Pl. 1, n° 1a), the symbolic flowing water or another substance is again
presented by the king to his consort, while on others grapevines are shown (Porada
1990: Pl. 1, no.3a-­b and Carter 2014). This passing of flowers or water is believed to
be connected with the conferring of power, but the images could also be interpreted
as banqueting scenes taking place under a vine canopy. Still other seals (Porada 1990:
Pl. II, no.4A and Figure 6) show a presumed queen with a servant, receiving a bird or
a cup. All wear the kaunakes garment (Ghirshman 1963: Figure 1 and 6; Amiet 1980:
Pl. III, Figure a-­c), pointing towards spheres of fashion influence with the Sumerian
and Bactria-­Margiana world. The hairdo, however, is exclusively Elamite.
The following Middle Elamite period is a golden age for portraiture of royal and
elite women, who had never before appeared so sumptuously attired. The Elamite
queen most lavishly represented and subject to most attention is undoubtedly Napir-­
Asu, wife of king Untash-­Napirisha (1340–1300 BC). Napir-­Asu is the first royal
woman in Elamite history portrayed on a limestone stela together with her husband
(Pittman 2003: Figure 15.6), and on a freestanding massive bronze sculpture (Harper
1992: 132–135). She seems also to be the first Elamite queen whose name is inscribed
on her body. On the stela, unearthed on Susa’s acropolis but originally commissioned
for Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha, are four registers, the second of which shows the remains
of two women and one man, identified through an inscription as Untash-­Napirisha.
The stela illustrates the royal power bestowed by the Elamite god Inshushinak upon
the king. He is joined by his wife Napir-­Asu and faces his mother, priestess Utik, both
of whom are identified by an inscription on their arm. The women clasp their hands
on their stomach while the king holds his arms upwards. Both are typical Elamite
gestures of respect or prayer connected with religion and investiture (Herbin 2015).
The hitherto unparalleled, freestanding, life-­size bronze statue of Napir-­Asu was
unearthed on the Acropolis of Susa, inside Ninhursag’s temple (Harper 1992: 134).
It stands 1.29 m tall, was made in the lost-­wax technique, and has a bronze and tin
core and a nearly pure copper and tin skin (Meyers 2000; Helwing, Chapter 7 in this
volume). The head and left arm were lost in antiquity. An inscription identifies the
queen, informs us as to the reason for its creation, “to perpetuate the queen’s prayer”,
and gives a warning to anyone who might destroy it (Harper 1992). This, along with
its careful finish, is a clear indication of the power Napir-­Asu enjoyed in her time.
Her garment shows the typical double dots on the shirt, while the remainder of her
skirt was presumably heavily embroidered, perhaps with sewn-­on golden bracteates

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and (semi-­)precious stones (see e.g., Pittman 2003 and Harper 1992). The use of
bracteates was reserved for garments of the Elamite elite. From the 2nd millennium
onwards, intricate needlework was used to embroider elite robes and fabrics, and
actual examples of (fragmentary) cotton textiles with embroidered fringes and gold
bracteates have been found in a ca. 600 BC male tomb burial at Arjan (Álvarez-­Mon
2010a; 2010b) and cotton textiles and over 1,500 gold bracteates in the contempo-
rary tomb of two women at Jubaji, near Ram Hormuz (Shishegar 2015). Only rarely
are children of royal descent represented within Elam, let alone a daughter. The most
cited example is on a blue chalcedony pebble carved with an image of the enthroned
king Shilhak-­Inshushinak (12th century BC) presenting what appears to be the peb-
ble itself to his daughter Bar-­Uli, who is identified by the accompanying inscription
(Amiet 1966: 445).
A distinctive feature of elite Elamite artistic production are clay portraits in the
round referred to as funerary heads (e.g., Spycket 1992: Pl. 136, Figure 1204). The
earliest examples come from Sukkalmah-­period vaulted collective tombs in the Ville
Royal at Susa (Carter 2014: 46), but their production climaxed during the Middle
Elamite 12th–11th centuries BC (Álvarez-­Mon 2005: 114). One from Kabnak may
even have represented the queen of king Tepti Ahar (Figure 37.2a) (Negahban 1991:
Pl. 24, Figure 169), or other members of the Elamite ruling class (Álvarez-­Mon 2005:
115). Twenty-­seven male and female heads of highly individualized appearance are
known so far (see Álvarez-­Mon, Chapter 30 in this volume). A number of these were
found next to or on top of the deceased’s skull and have been interpreted as effi-
gies of the deceased or as family members watching over them (e.g., Figure 37.1a)
(Álvarez-­Mon 2005: 114). Carter (2010: 49) suggests they may have been carried on
poles during a funerary rite, symbolizing the deceased when he or she entered the last
resting place in a burial rite that comprised several stages. The most recent examples
are from ca. 8th–7th century BC Susa (Álvarez-­Mon 2005: 120; Amiet 1966: 489,
Figure  367), and although they follow the fashions of the Middle Elamite period,
they are more crudely finished and severely eroded, perhaps heralding some decline
in Elamite artistry.
By far, the grandest displays of power are found in the monumental Elamite carved-­
rock reliefs. Several reliefs in Fars and Izeh-­Malamir display men and women of royal
lineage. A relief from Naqs-­I Rustam, later usurped by a Sassanian carving, is dated
by various authors from the 9th to 7th century BC (Álvarez-­Mon 2009: 150) and
shows a presumed royal couple in procession before a pair of seated gods. Nothing
is known about the couple’s identity, but the remaining head of the woman is most
certainly that of a queen. She wears a crenellated, mural crown referencing royal
Assyrian examples, which may symbolize an actual city, perhaps Anshan (Álvarez-­
Mon 2010a: 10). At Shikaft-­i Salman, two Middle Elamite reliefs show a king with
his wife, and a child standing between them (one shown in Figure 37.3a) (Vanden
Berghe 1983: 22–39, Pl. XXIII–XXIV).
An intriguing banquet scene is found in the partially broken 8th–7th century bitu-
men plaque from Susa known as la fileuse (Figure 37.3b) (Connau & Dechesne 1996:
227). It portrays a seated young woman of high rank fanned by a servant standing
behind her. The fileuse, so named because of the spool of thread she holds in her
hands, wears her hair in the Elamite fashion and a dress draped around her body, cov-
ered by a shawl in a similar fashion to contemporary Urartian women (Kellner 1991:

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Figure 37.3  [a] Shikaft-­i Salman rock relief depicting Elamite royal family;
[b] la fileuse bitumen relief (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

160–161, Figure  17). A  probable deity or royal personage once faced her, though
this part of the relief was broken away leaving only the lower front portion of their
kaunakes garment (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 12). In between these figures, a dish holding
fish and vegetables rests on a small table.

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Neo-­Elamite elite women are also attested in the Neo-­Assyrian kingdom. In the
7th century the Assyrian king Assurbanipal rejoiced in taking Elamite captives, men
and women alike, to his land. For his northern palace at Nineveh, he commissioned
several panels displaying his triumph over his Elamite rivals. In one he reclines at a
banquet, facing an enthroned woman whom Álvarez-­Mon (2009: 147) suggested
could be a captive member of the Elamite royal household. The crenellated crown
and garment of the woman references late 14th century elite Elamite dress, with
delicate needlework on bands of embroidered sleeves and broad fringes, along with
patterns of typically Elamite plain or dotted circles (Álvarez-­Mon 2009: 144, 155).
This scene has suffered bouts of iconoclasm, probably as a result of retribution by
later Elamite elite.
One of the last Neo-­Elamite iconographic testimonials of (possible) women con-
nected to the court is seen on the large bowl from the above-­mentioned tomb at
Arjan, inscribed with the name Kidin-­Hutran, son of Kurlush (Stronach 2005: 179).
It shows parallels with Phoenician and Urartian imagery, pointing towards stylistic
spheres of interaction. On the outer register is a banquet scene involving a seated king
with seven servants before him. Behind them stand two further servants with a dif-
ferent dress and hairdo, perhaps suggesting their female gender, who appear to be in
charge of the beverage served. Inside the yurt-­like structure behind the king (Stronach
2005: 191) could be another female servant. On the fourth register a second banquet
is enlivened by music performed by two possibly female harpists who differ from
their male partners; they lack a beard and have a different hairdo, covered chest and
long skirt.

WOMEN AND WO RS HIP

Women in worshipping poses are known as early as the Proto-­Elamite period with
the series of kneeling alabaster figures from Susa who clasp their hands against their
mouth or chest (Harper 1992: 59, 62–63, Figs. 25 and 31 and Amiet 1976: Pl. XVIII,
Figs. 1–2 and 5–6). During the Middle Elamite period at Susa, Kabnak, and Anshan,
they sometimes come in the form of clay naked and dressed female figurines (see
above) whose hands either clasp piously against their stomach or cup their breasts.
Other contemporary figurines more directly associated with worship were discov-
ered in the temple of Inshushinak at Susa (Amiet 1977: 449, Figure 522) and in the
Pinikir temple at Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha, for example, two frit images of women, one
of which holds a cup against the chest (Ghirshman 1968b: Pl. VII, Figure 7 and 9).
A contemporary stone plaque from Susa shows a couple in a probable position of
worship (Amiet 1966: 444, Figure 339). The hands are brought in front of the body
of both the man and woman in a gesture seen also on late Middle-­Elamite rock reliefs
(Vanden Berghe 1963: Pl. XXIII).
We know from brick inscriptions from the time of king Shilhak-­Inshushinak that
figurines and statuettes were produced to commemorate predecessors, secure descent,
and honor family members (Carter 2014: 48). So-­called hut-­halikpi statuettes of
divinities and members of the royal Elamite family were produced for the kumpum
kiduya or exterior sanctuary and for the suhter or royal chapel (Carter 2014: 48).
Whether these refer to the crudely shaped figurines found in their hundreds in Mid-
dle Elamite urban centers and temples is hard to ascertain. We also know from a

771
 — Aurelie Daems —

damaged inscribed stele from Kabnak, from the time of Tepti Ahar, that women were
involved in the maintenance of court buildings and cult centers and in the securing of
ceremonies, religious rituals, and special festivals in which animals were slaughtered
and food prepared for consumption during the kispum, a funeral banquet in which
a priestess of Susa was involved (Potts 2004: 202; Carter 2010: 52 and Henkelman
2010: 127; Basello 2014). Contemporary inscribed bricks from Susa mention four
“women of the guardians of the house” who must dress in garments fastened with
strings and be locked into “the house” at night to sleep at the feet of statues of the
deceased ruler and his “servant girls” until dawn (Reiner 1973: 95–96).

ACTIVITIES AND RO L E S W ITHIN THE

COMMUNITY
The roles taken up by women in Elamite society can be deduced in explicit and
implicit ways. Thanks to seals, stelas, statues, and rock reliefs, we bear explicit wit-
ness to women in their official roles as queens. We must rely on more implicit evidence
for insights into their other roles as priestesses, musicians, worshippers, mothers,
wives, and so on. From the Proto-­Elamite period onwards, several representations of
everyday activities connected with the household are represented through seals and
sealings. Although the physical distinction between men and women is not always
straightforward, there are seal impressions from Susa that may show women folding
large pieces of textile or weaving large threads (Figure 37.4a), preparing dung cakes
for fuel (Amiet 1972: Pl. 17, Figure 666 and 674), dairy processing (Figure 37.4b),
and fabricating large containers at Susa (Amiet 1972: Pl. 17, Figure  674) and at
contemporary Choga Mish (Alizadeh, Delougaz and Kantor 1996: Pl. 44, Figure G).
From ca. 2500–2400 BC Susa also comes a seal thought to represent a seated priest-
ess milking a sheep and processing its milk (Figure  37.4c) (Amiet 1966: 206–207,
Figure 153).
Hardly surprising is the representation of women with babies in reference to
their role as mothers or wet nurses. At Susa they first appear during the Shimashki
period in the form of molded images of dressed women with babies suckling their
breasts. These women are seated on a clay throne, and circular pendants on their
shoulders and surrounding solar disks may connect them to the religious sphere
(e.g., ­Figure 37.5c) (e.g., Spycket 1992: Pl. 51, Figs. 365, 367, 370–372, Pl. 52, Figs.
373, 377, 379 and M 9). During the following Sukkalmah period, this motif remains
(Amiet 1966: 300, Figure 224), but the baby is more detailed and occupies a larger
portion of the scene. Middle Elamite Susa and Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha yielded the
largest sample of these images. Here the majority of women were standing and wear
more elaborately decorated dresses with stripes, dots and circles. The baby is held
in one hand and the other hand is held up between the breasts (e.g., Figure 37.5d)
(Spycket 1992: Pl. 132, Figs. 1168–1169, Pl. 133, Figs. 1174–1175, 1181–1185).
The figurines from Susa do not have a clear context, but the women-­with-­child from
Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha, come from the temple of the goddess Pinikir (Ghirshman
1968b: Pl. 135, Figure 1195 and Pl. IX, Figs. 1–2).
Additionally, Elamite women may have been associated with musical instruments.
From the Sukkalmah period onwards at Susa, women hold handheld drums and
rattles in celebratory or festive contexts (Spycket 1992: Pl. 84, Figure  720, Pl. 85,

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Figure 37.4  Seal and sealing images showing women partaking in everyday
activities: [a] carpet weaving; [b] dairy processing; [c] milking a goat
(photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

Figure 831, Pl. 97, Figs. 823 and 825, Pl. 135, Figs. 1200–1201). In nearly every case,
the woman is naked or lightly dressed and has the typical Elamite hairdo. According
to Draffkorn-­Kilmer (1995: 2603–2604) these were dancers who performed during
prescribed sexual rites. This is difficult to confirm, but from the Sukkalmah onwards,

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 — Aurelie Daems —

Figure 37.5  Terracotta plaques and figurine: [a] naked couple in bed;
[b] naked woman in bed; [c] seated breastfeeding woman; [d] standing
breastfeeding woman (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

small clay beds topped by naked women have been recovered at Susa in “the grand
bâtiment central” believed to have been erected during the 17th century (Spycket
1992: Pl. 15, Figure  1364). In the light of the great number of containers, naked
figurines and clay beds supporting a single woman (Figure 37.5b), or a woman and

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man engaged in a sexual act (Figure  37.5a) (Trümpelmann 1981: Pl. II, Figure B,
Pl. III, Figure a-­b and Spycket 1992: Pl. 102, Figure 864, Figure M 24–25, Pl. 150,
Figure  1307–1308, 1321, M. 35, Pl. 151, Figure  1323, 1329, 1331, Pl. 152, Fig-
ure 1336–1337, 1339–1341, Pl. 153, Figure 1347, Pl. 154, Figure 1355, Pl. 155, Fig-
ure 1362–1363), Trümpelmann (1981: 35–44) has interpreted this area as a brothel.
Important to note is that most of the figures found in this building hold their arms in
a more open gesture, somewhat next to their body; not with hands clasped against
the stomach in the classic pose of the period. It is certain that dance, whether in a rit-
ualized or sexual fashion, was practiced by female dancers within Iran as early as the
Late Neolithic period, as attested for instance through painted ceramics from Tepe
Musian (Gautier and Lampre s.d.: 131) and Chiga Sabz (Schmidt, Curvers and van
Loon 1989: Pl. 67, Figure a).
Women may have been connected with the production of woven or felted cloth,
using flax, beaten fiber textile, wool, or linen (Good 2012: 337). Sumerian texts
inform us of the use of Shimaskhi sheep that were trimmed for the production of
fleece and woolen clothing; the earliest archaeological example coming from ca. 1800
BC Shahr-­I Sokhta, which was surely in contact with the Elamite world. To produce
woolen cloth and threads, horizontal looms and spindle whorls of distinct materials
were used, leaving evidence in the material record. The clearest evidence for the pro-
duction of woolen garments is the kaunakes dress, which was made by piled textile
crafted on a loom, and which is attested in Elamite imagery. Whether produced by
pastoral nomads or city dwellers (see Good 2012: 340–341), textile manufacture
required the passing of specialized knowledge from one generation to another.

E LAMITE WOMEN AN D THE AF TE RL IF E

The Elamite dead were usually buried in plain earthen pits, jars (usually children), or
mud-­brick vaults. None of these types seem to be linked to a specific gender and men
and women were housed together in communal tombs. In view of the general absence
of studies of skeletal remains, in most cases male and female interments can only
be determined by the rather dubious method of relying on gendered grave goods.
Traditionally, weapons have been equated with men and jewelry with women, but
these correspondences are not always reliable (e.g., Wicks 2015). The clay funerary
heads representing both males and females might reflect the gender of the deceased,
but this remains uncertain. A rare example of the analysis of a skeleton in tomb IV
of the Palais hypogée of Dur-­Untash-­Napirisha identified a woman aged between 40
and 60 years. She was buried with the incinerated remains of two other individuals
that were interred with their personal belongings (Carter 2010: 54). As one of the few
uncremated individuals at this site, it has been suggested that she may have been of
foreign, presumably Kassite descent (Potts 2004: 230).
In the subsequent Neo-­Elamite period, skeletal analysis identified a ca. 50-year-­
old woman with a white-­glazed faience cylinder seal near her chest in an elite tomb
(T.693) in the Ville Royale II at Susa (Miroschedji 1981). The two above-­mentioned
female bronze “bathtub” coffin interments in a stone-­lined tomb at Jubaji were also
deposited late in this period. One of the women was aged about 30–35 years old and
the other around 17  years (Shishegar 2015). Their high status is overtly displayed
in their luxurious grave goods, including an extraordinary collection of gold and

775
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semi-­precious stone jewelry and clothing ornaments, metal, stone and glazed vessels,
several tall bronze candelabra, and generous offerings of sacrificial animals and stor-
age vessels for large quantities of commodities. Amongst the assemblages was a gold
“ring” bearing the name of Shutruk Nakhunte, son of Intata (Basello 2014: 6), which
may point to the royal lineage of these women.

LEGAL MATTERS AND J U RIS D ICTIO NS

Some Sukkalmah-­period exceptions from Susa left aside (De Graef 2010: 27), there
is not much legal information available to inform us of the legal and civil status and
rights of Elamite women. There is enough textual evidence, however, to show that
women of the royal court or entourage had claim to significant power. When Susa
was ruled by Akkadian kings, intermarriage between the Mesopotamian and Elamite
elite became a means to form diplomatic alliances and ensure peace, safe trade, and
control over territory. Even more significantly, some Sukkalmah brick inscriptions
hint at the status of royal women (De Graef 2015: 1), with the rise to power of rulers
from lower to higher ranks legitimized through female lineage. Entitlement to the
Elamite crown was justified by the claim to be the son of the sister of a preceding
ruler; a filiation known in Elamite as ruhusak (Álvarez-­Mon 2012: 748; Carter 2014:
41; De Graef 2015: 2).
Indirect evidence for Elamite women also comes from textual sources outside of
the Elamite world. The deportation of Elamite civilians to the Neo-­Assyrian empires
is noteworthy in this respect (see also above). The Lagash tablets MVN 6 105 and
492 from the time of Gudea reveal that during the war against the Elamite king
Puzur-­Inshushinak, captive Elamite women and children were distributed rations of
barley (Steinkeller 2012: 299), and in a much later legal document from mid-­7th cen-
tury-­BC Assur (VAT 9755), the sale of a captive Elamite woman and her daughter are
discussed (Faist 2009: 60). The woman identified as Nanaia-­ila-­I and her unidentified
daughter were, according to the inscription, legally acquired by a scribe from a gold-
smith and offered to the city of Ashur (Faist 2009: 61, fn. 12, 64). These women and
others, who presumably became domestic slaves, were among the large volume of
imports of Elamite population, livestock, and property brought into to the Assyrian
capital. War widows were equally coveted assets for the empire (Root 2010: 452).
In several cases, tablets bear personal Elamite names (De Graef 2007: 56), but
it is hard to assess if these are male or female. What we do know is that contem-
porary Mesopotamian law permeated part of the Elamite judicial system and must
have affected Elamite women. When we compare documents from Old Babylonia
with contemporary Elam, for instance, we can imagine that the concerns and con-
tents of personal letters may have been similar within the neighboring Elamite world
(De Graef 2008: 181). Letters often revolve around disputes, divorces, heritage and
dowries, claims over property, personnel, cattle and field plots, deliveries, and unmet
obligations. We know from Old Babylonian lawsuits, that some women of esteem,
such as the naditums of Shamash, could bring charges against men (De Graef 2008:
186–187), but whether this was the case in Elam is unknown to me. We know that
parents could reclaim a previously adopted child, or that some women could file
for divorce or were accused of being disloyal and unfaithful (De Graef 2008: 189).
Claims could relate to issues of property or taxes, or of improper payment or transfer

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 — Wo m e n o f E l a m —

of goods and marital gifts, and statements could be made by female witnesses in
Sukkalmah-­period Susa (De Graef 2010: 32). They could relate to men leaving their
wives, as is the case for tablet MDP 23, 327, where Rabi-­Inshushinak is accused by
several witnesses of having left his wife. In another tablet from Susa, MDP 23, 285,
written in Akkadian and also dated to the Sukkalmah period, a father is said to have
offered his estate to his daughter Narubti before his death, in return asking her to
provide him with food and drink during his life and to make his kispu offerings once
he is dead (Basello 2014: 3).
Among the school tablets unearthed at Susa, there are many exercises for writing
personal names (Malayeri 2013: 371). However, it is hard to fathom which of the
names is female or male. When stated, most Elamite personal names are male or
relate to male descent (Waters 2006: 61–63); only very rarely is a woman’s name
mentioned. One of these rare cases is the Sukkalmah family of Shushinak-­Shemi
(Sadafi 2012: 356); a local ruler who offered part of his property to his daughter in a
charter (Sadafi 2012: 358, 361). Finally, a number of tablets from Neo-­Elamite Susa
present a corpus of typical Elamite personal names (Tavernier 2010). Potts (2004:
91) mentions personal Elamite female names on tablet DPP 230, in the context of
a list of cereal rations given to “five women from Elam, probably either slaves or
prisoners-­of war, with the otherwise unattested names of DU-ílíl, ha-­ba-­ra-­DU.NE,
KA.A and usùr-­DU10.DU10; reference to two Elamite women with typically Sume-
rian names, PAP.PAP-am-­da-­rí and dnin-­gír-­suur-­mu, working for a brewer named
Ilibeli at Lagash”.

CONCLU S IO N
The short space attributed here to women in Elam can offer only a biased and par-
tial view. The main focus has been the presentation of a status quaestionis based on
selected direct and indirect evidence for Elamite women, and from this it should be
clear that future research needs to actively engage with far more ambitious questions
to gain insights into what it meant to be a woman in Elam. Only then can we alter
the discourse, from a top-­down, descriptive approach centered on the elite and its
iconography, to a bottom-­up holistic view that does justice to the women and men
alike who helped shape the Elamite world.

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780
 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MUSIC

Bo Lawergren

N o notated music or sounds have survived from Elam, yet we have quite good
information on its musical culture because a rich set of images shows instru-
ments and the circumstances of their use. These indicate a sophisticated musical cul-
ture and allow for a preliminary sketch of Elamite music history. This history lasted
for three millennia, much longer than Western music history, which usually is consid-
ered to begin around 1000 CE.

CH OGHA MISH: THE FIRS T BANQU E T M U S IC ,

CA. 3200 B CE
Between 1961 and 1971, archaeologists from the University of Chicago excavated
Chogha Mish, located 26 km east of Susa. During the third season they found a set of
five sealing fragments near the bottom of a beveled-­rim bowl dated to ca. 3200 BCE
(Delougaz and Kantor 1996: 147–148, Part I).1 The impressed images were parts of a
large scene, which could be reconstructed because the fragments shared one pictorial
element (a jar, Figure 38.1a).2
On the far right is the main figure, who squats on a cushion (Figure  38.1a). In
front of her is a low table with food vessels. An attendant, holding a spouted jar and
a three-­necked milk vessel, bends toward her. Four seated musicians accompany the
diner, having mastered the intricacies of ensemble playing. One musician plays an
arched harp, here shown for the first time in history. Below is a man who extends his
arms over the flat top of an object restored as a drum (it is not completely preserved
on the sealing). The third musician holds two objects shaped like animal horns. Pre-
sumably, their narrow ends were cut open, allowing the player’s breath to enter the
horn; he holds the other horn in reserve. It may, possibly, have had a different pitch.
The fourth person places his right hand against the cheek, a posture well known
from singers in the ancient and modern Near East (Hickmann 1961: Figure 50). Pre-
sumably, the action makes it easier to hear skull vibrations. Although it is the earliest
known ensemble, it includes the essential elements of a modern ensemble. The musi-
cians play a string instrument, a percussion instrument, and a wind instrument.

781
 — Bo Lawergren —

Figure 38.1  [a] Impression of cylinder seal from Chogha

Mish ca. 3200 BCE (Courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the
University of Chicago). The image is based on Delougaz et al.
1996: Pl. 155A, but the harp is slightly altered to more closely fit
the photo in Delougaz et al. 1996: Pl. 45N; [b] Consecration
plaque from Susa, ca. 2750–2600 BCE. Louvre Museum Sb14
(photograph by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

The ensemble is the first known representation of a union of music and feasting.
There seem to be no religious objects on display, but, of course, one cannot know if
the feast had a hidden religious purpose. At any rate, it is no ordinary meal: the pres-
ence of music makes it unique.

782
 — Music —

A CONSECRATION PLAQU E F RO M S U S A, CA.

2750–2 6 0 0 B CE
With the beginning of the 3rd millennium BCE, instruments began to be frequently
represented in Mesopotamia and Elam in the context of banquet scenes (Rashid
1984: 48–61; Amiet 1966: 178, Figure 130). In particular, the depiction of the arched
harps in consecration plaques found in religious contexts offers insights into Elamite
musical practice.
An instrument is shown on a consecration plaque made of alabaster, 16 × 17 cm
in size, and dated to 2750–2600 BCE found at Susa. As on Mesopotamian plaques, it
is an arched harp, but its details differ sharply from those shown on Mesopotamian
plaques. A comparison throws light on Elamite musical practice.
Arched harp in Susa. The alabaster 16 × 17  cm plaque, pierced with a central
hole, exhibits two horizontal registers (Figure 38.1b). On the upper register a seated
harpist plays for a seated man. Both figures seem to be of high rank, as indicated by
clothing and posture. They are holding cups received from two small naked figures,
probably servants. The harp (Figure 38.2a.a) has a long arched rod with a rectangu-
lar box attached at the lower end; strings span the length of the rod. The player holds
her harp backward: the strings are near her body, and the box points away (Figs.
38.1b and 38.2a.a).
Arched harps are also shown on Mesopotamian consecration plaques from Kha-
fajah (Figure 38.2a.b; Frankfort 1939: 43–48, Pls. 105, 106, 108), on a chlorite ves-
sel from Bismaya (Figure 38.2a.c; Wilson 2012: Pl. 55), and as “shoulder harps” in
Pharaonic Egypt (Manniche 1991: Pl. 4; Lawergren 1980). On these harps the rods
bend smoothly (C-shape) like a hunting bow, but on the Elamite harp the rod has
an S-shape. Since the strings are not shown as straight lines, but curved, there are
pictorial distortions. Perhaps the S-shape of the rod is exaggerated. Still, it must have
differed greatly from the harp in Figure 38.2a.b because otherwise the elaborate con-
struction in Figure 38.2a.a would hardly have been drawn.
The lower register shows a lion attacking a bull. On the right is a nude hero, who
strikes the lion with a spear. The scene is violent, and not in accord with the peaceful
drinking scene above or with scenes illustrated on the Mesopotamian consecration
plaques. This stone is also smaller than those.
Arched harp in Sumer (southern Mesopotamia). Four consecration plaques from
southern Mesopotamia discussed by Rashid (1984: Figs. 32–35) exhibit banquet
scenes with harp players. The 32 × 29.5 cm limestone plaque from Khafajah (Rashid
1984: Figure 32) dated to 2600 BCE has three registers. At the far right of the top
register sits a king and on his left stands a servant pouring him a drink. Further left
stands a musician who plays the C-shaped arched harp. Three more people hold a
large drinking vessel. In the middle row are a horse, a groom, and two men carrying
a large jar. The bottom register shows four horses pulling a chariot. All aspects of the
image on the plaque are peaceful, showing mostly drinking and music.
The other three plaques (Rashid 1984: Figs. 33–35) are from Khafajah, Tell Ağrab,
and Khafajah, respectively. All have similarly peaceful scenes and include a depiction
of the C-shaped harp. Most likely, the ritual shown on the Mesopotamian plaques
influenced Susa, but the harp lost its C-shape and acquired an S-shape, and the sub-
ject matter became more agonistic.

783
 — Bo Lawergren —

Figure 38.2  [a] Arched harps from the 3rd millennium. [a.a] Susa, 2700 BCE;
detail based on the consecration plaque shown in Figure 38.1b; [a.b] Khafajah,
Mesopotamia, 2700 BCE; detail of a consecration plaque (after Rashid 1975: 59);
[a.c] Bismaya, Mesopotamia, 2900–2650 BCE; part of a chlorite vessel from Bismaya
(after Wilson 2012: Pl. 55); [b] Bull lyres from the 3rd millennium; [b.a] Shown on a plaque
made of shell and lapis lazuli mounted on the front of a bull-­lyre in University Museum,
University of Pennsylvania, ca. 2450 BCE; [b.b] Impression of a cylinder seal from Susa, ca.
2450 BCE; [b.c] Impression of a stamp seal from Failaka, ca. 1900 BCE (figure based on
Lawergren 2001: 525, Figure 4, by permission of Oxford University Press).

BULL LYRES: AN EARLY INTE RCU LTU RAL

INSTRUMENT, CA. 2 4 5 0 B CE
In 1929 Leonard Woolley excavated bull lyres at Ur in southern Mesopotamia, and
meticulously recovered their outlines. They had been buried ca. 2450 BCE. A small
Elamite cylinder seal (Figure  38.2b.b) dated to a few centuries later also bears an
image of this instrument. The correspondence is an early indication of the long-­
running musical entanglement of Elam and Mesopotamia. This type of lyre was a
large string instrument, with a shape that resembled a bison or bull, which flourished
in a vast region bordering on Elam, Sumer, and Failaka during 2550–1530 BCE.

784
 — Music —

Most bull lyres were excavated in Sumer, particularly in the city-­states of Ur and
Nippur, and their peak production occurred between 2500 and 2400 BCE.
On seals it is difficult to distinguish small details, but the full-­size instruments that
survived at Ur give greater precision in details. They reveal what species of animal
the lyre portrays, what dimensions it has, how many strings and tassels, and so on.
The body parts are in fact characteristic of bison and bulls, which have bulky bodies,
heads with small horns, and beard under the chin. There are pairs of short feet.
None, however, reveal the original shape of the bull lyres, which had all once been
three-­dimensional wooden instruments covered in silver or gold foil. Because they
were buried with the broad side resting on the ground, most were flattened by the
earth into a thin, almost two-­dimensional form, providing only a side-­on view. When
the lyres were exhibited in the British Museum, the excavator wished to restore the
original thickness of the body. He decided upon a thickness of about 5 cm, and made
the sides flat. We now know this is wrong. One lyre, the Plaster Lyre, which had
been buried standing upright and had not been crushed, left an empty cavity in the
soil. Taking great care, Woolley rescued the shape of the lyre by filling its cavity with
plaster poured through a narrow tube. Unfortunately, the front of the lyre caved in,
but most of the back survived. It shows that the back was not flat but had strongly
marked ridges for hips, shoulders and spine. In other words, the Plaster Lyre resem-
bled the three-­dimensional shape of a bull or bison more than do the flat reconstruc-
tions in the British Museum.
A plaque mounted vertically on the front of a bull lyre in the University Museum,
University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, is self-­referential in that it offers a detailed
drawing of a bull lyre (Figure  38.2b.a). It is played by a large donkey that squats
while plucking the strings. A large bear holds the lyre arm to steady it, while a small
fox sits on the ground holding a sistrum in the right hand and a frame drum in the
left. This is a musical trio of animal musicians who behave like human musicians. If
we include the bull, it becomes a quartet.
The seal from Susa, dated to the pre-­Sargonic period (i.e. 2500–2300 BCE), does
not show such clear details, but what is shown is not inconsistent with a donkey or
bear (Figure 38.4b) (Amiet 1972: 182, no. 1443). According to Amiet, the lyre player
kneels on his left leg and plucks the string. Another musician to his right strikes the
same posture and shakes a sistrum. Further to the right are a scorpion (or frog) and a
human head, and then a curved object (boat?) turned 90 degrees clockwise. The lyre,
its player, and the sistrum player are clear, but the rest of the scene is not and may
refer to a long forgotten tale.
Because Woolley found many bull lyres at Ur, scholars have long considered this
city its true home,3 but recent archaeological finds widen the territory. Beside those
from Ur and Susa, another lyre is seen on a stamp seal at Failaka dated ca. 1900 BCE
(Figure 38.2b.c; Kjærum 1997: 163–164 and Figure 734; Lawergren 2001: 525, Fig-
ure 4; Aruz and Wallenfels 2003: 321, no. 220f). It is an intercultural instrument but
may have originated in Mesopotamia, since most images were found there in 2500–
1500 BCE. Not only did the instrument penetrate into peripheral regions; so did the
animal associations. The Susa seal shows with certainty an instrument shaped like
a bull with large horns, but it is unclear if the player is also an animal or is dressed
in animal costume. Since he has dog-­like ears, both player and instrument may have
animal associations.

785
 — Bo Lawergren —

The Susa image, like those in Mesopotamia, displays a strong association between
animals and music. A  poem, written in 2125 BCE to celebrate the rebuilding of a
temple in Lagash ca. 2144–2124, describes a room in the temple occupied by a bull
lyre. Its sound was like that of a bull (Jacobsen 1987: 423–424). The text is taken
from Gudea Cylinder A:

Within its storehouse (were) gems, silver, tin

Its chariot house (was)
A mountain planted on the ground,
Its “Harp back room” (was) a bull,
bellowing loudly,
its courtyard was (full of)
holy salutations, cymbal and alu lyre,
its stone stairs, laid against the house,
were (just) as if the foothills were
laid (up) toward the Ulnun.

According to the poem, the temple had a “Harp room”, which contained a bull that
bellowed loudly like a harp. The text equates the sound of the bull and lyre. Indeed,
the lowing sound of a bull may have been quite similar to that of a lyre, but there is
no way of knowing as long as the acoustics of bull lyres remain unknown.

PRE-­S ARGONIC LYRES AND HARP S O N CYL IND E R

SEALS FROM SUSA, 2 5 0 0 – 2 3 0 0 B CE
Cylinder seals from Susa have yielded three more images of instruments (Figure 38.3;
Amiet 1972: Pl. 33):

1444 (Louvre Museum Sb 2151; 2.5 cm high). This line-­drawing depicts a human
master-­of-­animals separating a seated lyre-­player (partly broken off the seal) and
a beast. Unlike other known lyres, the body is a double cone, but it may be
related to large upright lyres with its set of vertical arms and/or strings, feet, and
tuning pegs at the top.
1445 (Louvre Museum Sb 2282). Line-­drawing depicting a harpist dressed in a
pleated skirt holds a harp or – possibly – a bow.
1446 (National Museum of Iran MT 759; 2.6 cm high). Line-­drawing depicting a
large arched harp placed between two standing people, and a goat on the left.

The seals show two different contexts for lyres and two for harps in Susa. Music has
adopted a diversity of roles.

DIF F ERENCE B ETW E E N ANG U L AR

HARP S IN ELAM AND M E S O P OTAM IA,
2 ND MILLENN IU M   B CE
Terracotta figurines and plaques provide extensive information on instruments in Susa.
Instruments are also shown on some Mesopotamian terracottas, and a comparison
shows differences in the way harps were played. Two kinds of angular harps were used
786
 — Music —

Figure 38.3  Impressions of cylinder seals from Susa, ca. 2700 BCE. The
numbers correspond to line drawings in Amiet’s catalog (1972, vol. I: 172; and photos
vol. II: Pl. 137). The photographs correspond to four fragmentary sealings: no. 1443 is in
the National Museum of Iran, Tehran; nos. 1444 and 1445 are in the Louvre Museum,
Sb 2151 (2.5 cm height) and Sb 2282, respectively. No. 1446 is in the National Museum
of Iran, MT 759, height 2.6 cm (photographs by J. Álvarez-­Mon).

in both regions: vertical and horizontal – referring to the direction of the strings (see
Figs. 38.4a, 38.4b, 38.4c versus 38.4d, 38.4e). Mesopotamian vertical harps were shown
both in side views with the player and the harp in profile (Figure 38.4a), and in front
views with the player and harp en face (Figure 38.4b). But Mesopotamian horizontal
harps were only shown in side views with both player and harp in profile (Figure 38.4d).
Depictions in Susa differ from Mesopotamian ones. In Susa vertical harps are only
shown en face (Figure 38.4c), and are smaller than those depicted in Mesopotamia.
Likewise, horizontal harps from Elam were smaller than those in Mesopotamia and
were rendered differently: the instruments were shown in side view while the player
was presented en face (Figure 38.4e). To produce this composite pose, the harp body
was turned clockwise until it became parallel to the frontal plane of the player’s body.
In Figure 38.4e there is a small elliptical pad between the bottom of the harp and
the player’s belt. Its purpose has been controversial. Over 20 years ago Agnes Spycket
(in Harper et al. 1992: 187–188) described the figurine:

At his chest he holds an instrument not easily identified: an elongated body sur-
mounted by a vertical post that ends in a hook turned inward. No strings can be
787
 Figure 38.4  Elamite and Mesopotamian angular harps. [a] Side view of a vertical
angular harp, Babylon, Mesopotamia, ca. 1900 BCE; [b] Front view of a vertical
angular harp, Mesopotamia; [c] Front view of a vertical angular harp, Susa,
1900–1500 BCE; [d] Side view of a horizontal angular harp, Babylon, Mesopotamia,
ca. 1900 BCE; [e] Front view of a horizontal angular harp, Susa, 1900–1500 BCE
(figure based on Lawergren 2001: 526, Figure 6, by permission of Oxford
University Press).
 — Music —

seen under the left hand and forearm. Visible under the right hand, at the junc-
ture of the body and the post, is an oblique patch marked with several grooves.
Beneath the body of the instrument is something resembling a cushion or inflated
pouch, which led Francis Galpin to identify the object as a wind instrument and
dub it a “crooked pipe”.

It is now clear that the “hook turned inward” is the vertical rod of a horizontal
harp; its top has been bent down to prevent it from sticking into, and injuring, the
harpist. The “oblique patch” is probably a broad belt (sash) wound around the play-
er’s waist. The “cushion or inflated pouch” may be a bundle of cloth attached to the
belt. The harp probably rests on the cushion, which seems slightly pressed down by
the weight of the harp.
Because of their shorter length, the harps of Susa probably had higher pitch than
Mesopotamian ones. A millennium later, however, Elamite harps were shown in sizes
as large as those in Mesopotamia (cf. Kul-­e Farah and Madaktu, see below).

AN I MAL ORCHESTRAS, 1S T M IL L E NNIU M B CE

In western Asia there were images of animals playing in orchestras, including one
in Elam. Since there are no texts, we do not known if they illustrate mythology.
The topic had precursors in Pharaonic Egypt where an ostracon from Deir el-­
Medina, dated 1300–1050 BCE, shows a hyena blowing double pipes and a goat
banging a drum (Manniche 1991: 113). On the Turin Erotic Papyrus (ca. 1160
BCE) a donkey plucks a harp, a lion plays a lyre, a crocodile strums a lute, and a
vervet monkey blows pipes (Omlin 1973: pl. 11; Lawergren 1998: Figure 4). But
the Egyptian examples are composed with a purpose quite different from the Near
Eastern ones.

An animal orchestra at Susa (Elam)

The orchestra at Susa is shown on a Neo-­Elamite cylinder seal excavated in that
city. It dates to the eighth or seventh century BCE and shows a large pair of animals
interspersed with a small pair (Figure  38.5a). All animals stand on their hind legs
and probably dance. Amiet (1966: 544, Figure 417) identified the two large animals
as a lion and a donkey. The donkey certainly plays a harp and the lion probably a
tambourine.4 The small animal behind the lion plays a set of double pipes, and the
other, between the donkey and lion, dances. Since all look at the harpist, he must be
the leader of the band. As in many other instances, the harp is the main instrument
of Susa. One can be more precise about this instrument. It is a vertical angular harp,
for it has a straight horizontal rod at the base, a bent sound box, and vertical strings.
Tassels hang underneath the rod of the harp. Four strings are shown, but it is likely
to have had many more. Although the seal impression is small, some details are well
observed: the upper body of the harp is slightly bent while the lower part is straight;
tassels hang loosely under it. The donkey is shown with hooves on the hind legs, but
the lion has toes.

789
 Figure 38.5  [a] Animal orchestra from Susa, 8th–7th century BCE. Impression of a
red marble cylinder seal, the height is 22 mm and diameter 8 mm. Louvre Sb 6281
(Amiet 1966: Figure 417). All animals walk or dance on their hind legs. From left: A large
donkey plays an angular harp, a small animal dances, a large lion plays a drum, and a
small animal plays double pipes (photograph by J. Álvarez-­Mon); [b] Line drawing of
the animal orchestra shown on the large orthostat from Tell Halaf, 9th to 8th century
BCE (after photograph in Potratz 1961: 379, Figure 95, by permission of Kröner Verlag,
Stuttgart). The animals walk (or dance) on hind legs. According to the excavation report
of Opitz and Moortgat 1955: Pls. 100–101, the animals are: 1. A large lion that plays a
tall thin lyre; 5. A fox; 6. An equid [donkey, semi donkey, or onager] with feces dropping
under its tail; 7. A bear that plays a round frame drum; 8. A dog; 9. A goat that carries a
small container; 10. A pig; 11. An ape.
 — Music —

An animal orchestra at Tell Halaf (North-­East Syria)

Tell Halaf has produced two other examples of animal orchestras in the Near East. Dated
to the 9th or 8th century BCE, they are roughly contemporary with the image from Susa.
These orchestras are sculpted in relief on two limestone orthostats, one large (0.78 m
high and 1.17 m wide), and one small (0.43 × 0.66 m). Each orchestra occupies one side
of an orthostat, but severe erosion makes it difficult to interpret details. To make matters
worse, the orthostats were damaged in Berlin during WWII, and only photos survive.5
Some of these show various degrees of details. The most explicit ones appear to be stone
rubbings (frottage), and on Figure 38.5b I have transferred one to a line drawing.
On the left is a lion which sits in a human pose and plays a lyre (Figure 38.5b,
no. 1);6 a perfectly normal instrument for this time and place.7 His right hand strikes
across the full set of strings, but only those not touched by the left hand sound
while the touched strings remain mute. This is a standard way of playing lyres. While
playing, the lion looks out at a group of 12 animals, some of which play percussion
instruments (certainly no. 7 and possibly nos. 2 and 3). Thus, the lion is the leader
and the lyre is the chief instrument at Tell Halaf.
Some of the animals were identified in the Tell Halaf excavation report (Opitz and
Moortgat 1955). All stand erect on their hind legs and, like the Susanian ones, are
likely to be dancers. Only one other animal is as large as the lioness: an equid (no.
6) occupying the middle ground of the scene. It has adopted a dancing pose known
as the courbette in classical dressage. The equid stands between the lyre and drum
duo that provides the dance music. Four animals (nos. 2–4) occupy the vertical space
between the lion and the equid. Possibly, they play small percussion instruments
including castanets and finger-­cymbals.
The other, smaller, orthostat at Tell Halaf shows a similar animal orchestra. Its
players and instruments are nearly the same as those in the larger orchestra: a lion
sits at the left edge and plays a tall, narrow lyre. A large equid dances in front of the
lion and many of the figures seen in the large orchestra are also present. Since both
orchestras are similar, it may have been carved by the same sculptor and perhaps one
orthostat was a practice piece.
At Susa the lead instrument is a vertical angular harp, followed by a drum and a
pair of pipes, but at Tell Halaf the lead is a lyre, followed by percussion instruments.
The animal orchestras (one at Susa and two at Tel Halaf) are composed on the same
principle: there are two main animals accompanied by smaller ones. In essence, it is
more like a solo performance than ensemble music making. The concept is similar at
Susa and Tell Halaf – although it is far from pure imitation, as there is an interesting
difference between the two places. In line with our previous observation, the vertical
angular harp was the main instrument in Elam, whereas the “thin lyre” was preferred
in the Near East – in north-­east Syria.
The sample of animal orchestras is small and therefore risky to generalize from,
but the prevalence of angular harps is a consistent feature of Susa starting in the early
3rd millennium.

Music for animals in Greece

These images of the 8th and 7th centuries bring us close to the date when Greek
sources begin to mention Orpheus, the marvelous singer whose song deeply
791
 — Bo Lawergren —

affected animals (Guthrie 1993: 25–41). Among the first to mention him was the
6th century poet Ibycus (Lesky 1966: 181), and a century later, many more lit-
erary references occur. Simonides of Ceos (c. 556–468 BCE) described how birds
and fish listen to Orpheus, Aeschylus (5th century, e.g., Agamemnon, 1629–1630)
described his power to charm the whole of nature, and Euripides (c. 480–406
BCE) often mentions this power (e.g. Bacchae, 560–564), stressing its magical
aspects.
The ability to make animals listen to, and react to, song is, of course, distinct from
seeing them make music, but the tale of Orpheus shows that the idea was not an alien
subject at the time. The exchange of ideas between Greece and the Near East is also
understandable during this Orientalizing period (which started during the late 8th
century BCE and continued into the 7th, Boardman 1973: 35–109). Greece was now
open to a lively flow of ideas and artifacts from the Near East.

ELAMITE HARP ENSEMBL E S AND O U TD O O R

SA NCTUARIES AT KUL- ­E FARAH, 9 TH– 6 TH
CENTURY B CE
Kul-­e Farah is an open-­air site near Izeh in the western foothills of the Zagros (De
Waele 1981: 45–61). The site is a narrow gorge cutting through the mountain, and
its sides have a large number of rock reliefs carved directly into the cliff walls. These
show scenes from the time when Kul-­e Farah was used as a sacrificial ground by
Elamite kings, priests, dignitaries, and other high-­ranking people. They worshipped
when the reliefs were made, in the few centuries between 900 BCE and 600 BCE.
Musical ensembles are displayed in several places, and musicians were placed in
prominent spots. Music would have been an essential part of the liturgy. Beside the
elites of society, there are crowds of lesser-­ranking worshippers who process up and
down the cliff walls. Eric De Waele assumes the images are realistic representations
of what happened at Kul-­e Farah. He identifies a “sacred area” where there is a con-
centration of rock reliefs, flowing water in proximity, and a large flat boulder suitable
as an altar for the sacrifice. At the front of Kul-­e Farah – at the wide opening of the
gorge – is an expanse of fertile plain. On the opposite side of Kul-­e Farah is the cave
and seasonal waterfall of Shekaft-­e Salman. It too has rock reliefs, but none show
musical instruments.
Three of the Kul-­e Farah reliefs show assemblies of harps in various combinations.
Although some of the carvings have eroded severely, surviving details allow several
different kinds of harps to be distinguished. The first group (KF I) has been known
for a century, but KF III and IV were published more recently by De Waele and dis-
cussed only a few years ago (De Waele 1989: 29–38; Álvarez-­Mon 2013). Angular
harps dominate, but there is also a square drum. The three groups provide a variety
of combinations. Horizontal (H) and vertical (V) harps are grouped in the following
patterns (Figure 38.6):

KF I: (square frame drum) + H + V (Figure 38.6a); end of 7th–6th century BCE.

KF III: V + V + V + conductor/leader (Figure 38.6b); 8th–7th centuries BCE.
KF IV: V + V + H; V + V + H + conductor/leader (Figure 38.6c); 9th century BCE.

792
Figure 38.6  Rock carving of harp ensembles at Kul-­e Farah, 9th–7th century BCE.
The figure is based on Lawergren 2001: 527, Figure 7 (by permission of Oxford
University Press; line drawings and photographs of A (KF I) and B (KF III) by
J. Álvarez-­Mon; line-­drawing and photographs of C (KF IV) from De Waele 1989).
 — Bo Lawergren —

The latter group is drawn on a very rough surface, making it difficult to determine
the number of players (six or three). Since the group has one leader (at the front), the
former interpretation is more likely.
KF III and IV both show a “conductor” at the front. But it is a remarkably early
date for such a functionary, and one cannot be certain about his/her role. Moreover,
the “conductor” does not behave in a consistent manner: in KF III he/she faces forward
and in KF IV backward. There is another varied detail: the tassels that hang under the
horizontal rod. They are present in groups KF I and III, but not in group KF IV.
There is another facet to Kul-­e Farah, the open-­air sanctuary located in a deep
gorge: its acoustical properties. The gorge is about 600 m long and opens up to the
fertile plane bordering Izeh. Its opening is ca. 200 m wide, but it narrows and curves
as it proceeds into the mountain. Its contour resembles the boot-­shape of Italy (De
Waele 1989: Figure 3). The “leg” is oriented in the east-­west direction, and the “toe”
points south. The “sacred area” identified by De Waele (1981: Figure 3) is located
near the “knee”. A seasonal stream emerges at the toe of the boot and runs past the
sacred area where the vertical walls of the gorge are nearly flat and made of hard
rock. In such a space one expects sounds will bounce off the hard walls and produce
echoes. With 200 meters between the walls, the reflected sound would return after
about one second.8 Since the path is relatively short, the sound would dissipate little,
and multiple reflections would produce a ringing effect. This might give it a mysteri-
ous and magical air, perhaps even a numinous one.
This may be the condition Henkelman and Khaksar have in mind when they dis-
cuss Kul-­e Farah. They deal with the psychological impact of these unusual and star-
tling sounds. As they see it (Henkelman and Khaksar 2015: 226):

Sounds not only carried traditional compositions and songs, thus connecting
with a communal past (and future), but, reinforced by natural resonance, it could
create a transcendental experience. Especially at Kūl-­e Farah, sound may acquire
an almost physical quality. . . . This, a crucial key to Elam’s experience of the
divine, could make a numinous abode speak and sing, become resonant with
sound that in turn inspired the gathering with a sense of its own immortality.

Put more plainly, the acoustics at Kul-­e Farah may lead to speculations about the
role of music in Elamite worship, but it is difficult to understand what effects it may
have had in the past, that is, whether the Elamites experienced it as one would today.

THE ELAMITE ROYAL O RCHE S TRA O F

MADAKTU, CA . 6 5 4 B CE
After Ashurbanipal’s defeat of Te’umman, the Assyrian king appointed Huban-­nikaš
II as the new ruler of Elam (Waters 2013: 480). The latter was a member of the Urtaki
family and had fled to Ashurbanipal’s court when Te’umman usurped the Elamite
throne. A relief in the British Museum shows the people of the royal city of Madaktu
streaming out to greet Huban-­nikaš II, newly appointed as king of Elam by Ashur-
banipal. Along with them comes a large and splendid orchestra. There are seven ver-
tical angular harps, two horizontal harps, and two pairs of double pipes. The choir
that follows behind incorporates six adults and nine juveniles (Figure 38.7a). This

794
Figure 38.7  [a] Elamite orchestra marching outside the city of Madaktu. Wall relief
in an Assyrian palace, Nineveh, 660–650 BCE (figure based on Lawergren 2001:
527, Figure 7, by permission of Oxford University Press); [b] Ashurbanipal and
companion drinking to the music of a large orchestra. Wall relief in the North Palace
at Nineveh, 645–635 BCE (line drawing based on Lawergren 2001: 527, Figure 7, by
permission of Oxford University Press); [c] A scene inscribed in a bronze bowl from
Arjan, ca. 650 BCE (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: Pl. 64).
 — Bo Lawergren —

orchestra has been known for more than 150 years and received much attention, but
the comments made about it have not always been accurate.9
The composition of the orchestra is similar to the one playing at Ashurbanipal’s
banquet (below). Both have large numbers of vertical angular harps, a few double
pipes, and a sprinkling of other instruments.10 Many instruments seem to play simul-
taneously, and some have speculated that they played chords. But this is not neces-
sarily the case, since the music may be heterophonic, that is: many instruments play
(nearly) the same tune. Extant vertical angular harps have survived from the time of
the New Kingdom of Egypt, and each harp had around 20 strings. If Elamite harps
had similar construction, the Madaktu orchestra would have had about 160 strings,
an impressive amount, similar to the violin section of a modern symphony orchestra.
Madaktu, Susa, and Hidalu were Elamite royal cities during the Neo-­Elamite
period (Potts 1999: 483). Since Madaktu was large enough to support a substantial
court orchestra, Susa, the capital, is likely to have possessed an even larger ensemble.

ASSURBANIPAL’S BANQU E T
ORCHESTRA, 6 5 3 B CE
One of the best-­known images of Assyrian art is Ashurbanipal’s banquet celebrating
his victory over Te’umman at the battle of Tell Tuba in 653 BCE (Figure  38.7b).
Te’umman’s decapitated head hangs in a nearby tree while the Assyrian king drinks
with a female companion. Recently Javier Álvarez-­Mon (2009) has proposed the
banquet included many Elamite elements, and I wish to show that the orchestra, too,
is likely to have incorporated Elamite features.
Up to a few years before the battle, Elam and Assyria were on peaceful terms.
In 674 Esarhaddon (680–669), Ashurbanipal’s father, had signed a bilateral treaty
with the Elamite king Urtak, and it assured “good will and peace . . . friendship and
comradeship”. Assyrian princes and princesses visited the Elamite court, and rela-
tions were harmonious until 664 BCE, when Urtak for no apparent reason decided
to attack Babylon. Ashurbanipal saw it as a hostile act; Urtak died in the aftermath.
Te’umman seized the Elamite throne in a coup d’état, and courtiers loyal to Urtak
went into exile in Assyria. Apparently, they and their retinues stayed in Assyria until
Te’umman was defeated in 653. As Álvarez-­Mon puts it, “[T]he battle of Tell Tuba
can be considered an armed clash between two main Elamite factions, those support-
ing the House of Urtak (and forcefully backed by Assyrian forces) and those support-
ing Te’umman”. Seen in that light, the musicians present at the banquet could equally
well be Elamites loyal to Urtak as Assyrians.
Álvarez-­Mon has suggested that the banquet has several Elamite aspects. But
one argument not considered concerns the orchestra. It is large, with several verti-
cal angular harps. We do not know if the players are Assyrians or Elamites, but the
large orchestra from Madaktu, also with many vertical angular harps, is definitively
Elamite. On the other hand, purely Assyrian ensembles had only pairs of horizontal
harps at this time. Vertical and horizontal harps were played with vastly different
technique: on the former the strings were plucked by the fingers of both hands; on the
latter they were hit by a plectrum held in the right hand while the left hand dampens
some of the strings. Harpists may have specialized in one or the other technique.

796
 — Music —

There are a number of sumptuous publications of Ashurbanipal’s banquet as illus-

trated on wall reliefs in the British Museum. Richard Barnett’s 1976 book is clear
with its black and white photographs in large format (52 cm large pages of plates),
but Pauline Albenda’s 1976 article is more accessible. Her line drawing of the pan-
els shows the banquet and its immediate surroundings. The reliefs have three regis-
ters: the top one shows the banquet and most of the musical ensembles. The second
one, immediately below it, presents a garden with wide, deciduous trees lined up
in rows. The bottom register has a forest of narrow trees and a few game animals.
Figure 38.7b shows only the top register with Ashurbanipal (B) and his consort (A).
They are surrounded by instruments numbered in three sets: #1 (1–7), #2 (8–9), and
#3 (10–16). Judging by the spacing of the players, and the way their faces are turned,
the three ensembles are independent. Only #1 is close to the king and is the only one
where all the musicians play. It contains four harps, one lute, one drum, and a pair
of double pipes. The pipes are loud, and a pair would balance the five string instru-
ments. So the #1 ensemble makes sense musically. The #3 ensemble, with three string
instruments and two pairs of double pipes, probably makes sense as shown, but the
strings may be overpowered if the two idle pipers on the right joined in.

ARJAN, CA. 6 0 0 B CE
During the 3rd millennium BCE, music was shown in ritual contexts, but in the next
two millennia more secular contexts began to appear. An image on a bronze bowl is
a case in point. It was found at Arjan in the Zagros foothills near modern Behbahan
and dates to ca. 600 BCE (Álvarez-­Mon 2010: 273). The bowl is 43.5 cm in diameter
and has a height of 8.5cm. It resembles the type of bowl sometimes called Phoenician,
which typically has iconography engraved in concentric registers on the inner surface
(Markoe 1985). The Arjan bowl depicts a lively scene (Figure 38.7c; Álvarez-­Mon
2010: Pl. 64, register II) with a seated ruler entertained by an ensemble of musicians,
dancers, stilt-­walkers, and acrobats, while cooks prepare food and drink, and others
carry jars and pots. It looks like a secular occasion, but in the absence of texts, there
is no certainty.
Most of the ensemble is in the top register of Figure 38.7c. A lyre, two vertical
angular harps, a set of double pipes, and a lute are shown. In the bottom register there
is probably a small frame drum near the right side. It looks like an Elamite ensem-
ble, although a Phoenician artist may have made it. In choosing vertical harps, he/
she adopted a millennium-­old Elamite motif. Phoenician artists were flexible. When
they worked on Greek musical scenes, they adopted Greek customs and drew lyres.11
I published this joyful scene 15 years ago (Lawergren 2001: 527), but only now has
the significance become clear.

CONCLUS IO NS
In this survey of Elamite music from ca. 3200 to 550 BCE, unique features have
emerged. First, evidence for music appears earlier in Elam (ca. 3200 BCE) than in any
other part of the Near East. At this early stage, all harps were arched, but an extreme
form is shown on a consecration plaque from Susa.

797
 — Bo Lawergren —

Elam also had bull lyres during the time they were popular in their Mesopotamian
homeland, that is, 2450–1500 BCE. Because this type of lyre was associated with
bulls, they may have been developed in the belief that the sound of bull lyres was
similar to that of a real, lowing bull. Indeed, the lyres of Ur looked nearly like three-­
dimensional statues of bulls. The similarities went beyond portraiture: for example,
the strings, made of gut, appeared to exude both from the stomach of the bull lyre
and of the bull. Apparently, Sumerians thought that animals and humans could play
bull lyres with equal rights. Some of this ambivalence is expressed in early Mesopo-
tamian literature.
Around 1900 BCE, harp fashion changed: arched harps disappeared and angular
harps emerged. During the first half of the 3rd millennium, Elamite angular harps
were much smaller than Mesopotamian angular harps, but by 1000 BCE they had
become similar. During the first half of the first millennium, further changes occurred
in musical fashion: the vertical angular harp became closely associated with Elam,
while horizontal angular harps became an Assyrian specialty. The latter appeared in
royal rituals, such as the pouring of libations after a successful lion hunt. Assyrian
horizontal angular harps may have inspired “steppe harps” which have been exca-
vated in the far western part of China (Xinjiang), where they flourished around 500
BCE (Lawergren 2003: 89–91 and Figure 38.7b).
Unlike the situation in Assyria, some Elamite ensembles were large and predom-
inantly composed of vertical angular harps. Those at Ashurbanipal’s banquet, at
Madaktu, and at Kul-­e Farah are typical. In Elam vertical harps continued, and we
see several examples on the bowl from Arjan.

NOTE S
1 Abbas Alizadeh, private communication.
2 Abbas Alizadeh, private communication, who does not consider it a fish unlike the state-
ment on Delagouz and Kantor: 47, n. 68.
3 Particularly in the Royal Cemetery at Ur excavated by Woolley in the 1920s.
4 Another animal orchestra is said by Amiet to be illustrated on a bronze from Luristan,
shown in Potratz 1961: 379, but it is, in fact, a hunting scene drawn on a belt-­plate and
the animals are not playing music.
5 Photographs and descriptions are given in Opitz and Moortgat 1955: Pls. 100 and 101.
6 Images of the orthostat are given by Thimme et al. 1968: 183, Figure 25; Bossert 1951:
147, no. 473; and Potratz 1961: 358, Figure 79. The latter is a line drawing on which
Figure 8 is based. The image in Bossert 1951 appears to be a rubbing of the orthostat.
Thimme et al. 1968 is similar but has smoother surfaces and black outlines drawn around
each animal.
7 Lawergren 1998: Figure 1v. The “thin lyre” fits neatly into a large systematic compilation
of flat-­bottomed lyres published 20 years ago. It had a long tradition (2300–2700 BCE) in
the Near East, but differed radically from bull lyres in size, shape, and period of popularity
(ca. 2400 BCE).
8 Travel time = t = 2 * d/v = 2 * 200/343.2 = 1.2 second, where v is the speed of sound in
air (in m/s and d is the length in m).
9 In 1940, Curt Sachs (1977: 82) observed finger positions and deduced which chords were
played by the Madaktu orchestra. Alas, he altered the positions to fit his predetermined
notion of pentatonic scales (for discussion, see Lawergren 1996: column 41).

798
 — Music —

0 For extant Sumerian double pipes, see Lawergren 2000.

1
11 See the examples from Greece labeled G8 in Markoe 1984: 328 and from Cyprus labeled
Cy6, Cy3 in Markoe 1984: 253 and 246.

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 PART VIII

THE LEGACY OF ELAM

 CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

ELAMITE ADMINISTRATIVE
AND RELIGIOUS HERITAGE IN
THE PERSIAN HEARTLAND

Wouter F.M. Henkelman

M DP 10 2 and 21, two Old Babylonian texts from early Sukkalmah-­period Susa,
are written on half-­circular or tongue-­shaped tablets with flattened left edges.1
The seal impression on the left edge is accompanied by a caption. MDP 10 2 has a
string hole at each side of the left edge (no images of the other tablet’s left edge are
available). Although the unusual format at first sight may suggest that they were
tags of some kind (so De Graef 2009), the contents show that the tablets are self-­
contained records in the full sense of the word. Despite several unclear aspects, it
appears that they are receipts for livestock used in a series of sacrifices.
Tablets of comparable format are known from Neo-­Assyrian contexts (where they
are known as ‘dockets’ – see Radner 1997: 26–31), but the closest parallels, nota-
bly in terms of document category, are from Achaemenid Persepolis. There, tongue-­
shaped tablets were used for economic transactions (not legal, as in the Assyrian case)
of various kinds, but mostly for receipts. One such ‘memorandum,’ PFa 02, records,
in Elamite, the allocation of barley for the purpose of acquiring livestock, which was
then sacrificed in four different rites: for Napiriša and Adad, for/at tikrakkaš and
kušukum. The sacrifices listed in MDP 10 2, some 15 centuries before, includes a
rite called gūšum, a term occurring only in Susa contexts and probably reflecting an
Elamite word. Achaemenid-­Elamite kušukum may well derive from it (through redu-
plication: *kušu-­kušum > *kušukušm > kušukum; Koch 1977: 120–125; Hinz and
Koch 1987 q.vv.; Henkelman s.d. 3 §4).
The above example illustrates the potential of tracing Elamite-­Persian continuities
in the sense that it shows the antiquity of institutional households organising certain
sacrifices, the possible endurance of cultic terminology, and use of a particular tablet
format for a particular kind of record. All this potential is marred, however, by the
huge chronological gap, only slightly mitigated by the recent find of Neo-­Elamite tab-
lets in tongue-­shaped and other formats (Yāsūǧ, unpublished). Elamite documentary
sources are generally sparse and unevenly spread throughout history; only rarely are
the same document types and thematic scope found in corpora from different periods.
Yet another matter is how to appreciate the Elamite elements in Persepolis Forti-
fication tablet PFa 02, especially since the sacrifices had been ordered, organised and
performed on behalf of the Persian heartland administration at the time of Darius I.

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To this may be added that the officiant had an Iranian name, Kaubara, an imprecise
variant of Kambarma (OP Gaubaruva-­; cf. PF 0353), better known from its Greek
form, Gobryas. How to explain the Elamite deities Napiriša and Adad (worshipped
in Elam since the early second millennium) and the Elamite term kušukum in an
otherwise Persian context?
The answer to the above question depends on the interpretative model one chooses.
One is, in its clearest and original form, that of an Indo-­Iranian Landnahme: a narra-
tive of migration and conquest by groups of Iranian-­speaking or Aryan people large
enough to impose their rule (see, e.g. Hinz 1976/1979 I: 42–52, 56). The migrants are
thought to have carried with them an essentially mature intellectual culture. Native
elements, if any, were absorbed and adapted within an existing and stable framework,
hence without truly impacting the incoming cultural-­ethnic identity. This identity
was for a long time regarded as superior; in more recent versions of the model it is
pictured more neutrally as particular and clearly distinct from any native culture (so,
e.g., Kellens 2002; discussion in Henkelman 2017b: 290–303).
The second, alternative model entails, again in its clearest form, a denial of Persian
identity as a linear development from its Indo-­Iranian roots. Articulated in a seminal
study by Pierre de Miroschedji (1985; also 1990), it proposes a Persian ethnogenesis
in which merging Elamite and Indo-­Iranian cultural traditions jointly produced a
new identity. Incorporating ever-­larger portions of the population of southwestern
Iran, it eventually produced the Persian nation as it emerges in the historical record,
this in analogy to the process that led to the formation of Germanic peoples in Late
Antiquity (as famously proposed by Wenskus 1961). Miroschedji further argued
that reduced settlement density in the centuries prior to the Achaemenids probably
pointed to increased nomadism, a factor that would have facilitated the merging
of various ethnic groups and their cultural traditions. While in itself valid, the sec-
ond inference builds an incomplete picture in the sense that it underestimates the
role of confrontations between agro-­pastoralist inhabitants of the highlands with
Elam’s urban culture in the all-­important contact zone of the Zagros piedmonts east
of Khūzestān (cf. Rollinger 1999: 125f.; Henkelman 2011a: 582–584).
The ethnogenesis model does not, it should be stressed, project a homogenous
cultural landscape as the outcome of acculturation (for an instructive example, see
Henkelman 2011b: 4–6). While adoption of a single language and unified culture
may coincide with ethnogenesis, they are not decisive prerequisites of it. What one
expects rather than full-­blown unity is a spectrum of cultural attitudes – yet gathered
under a broad and inclusive cultural-­ethnic umbrella, viz ‘Persian’. It is this ethnonym
and the traditions projected onto it that make decisive unifiers.
Although the difference is not always observed in debates on the subject, both
models here outlined are hypotheses, not conclusions: their hypothetical nature is
a function of the absence of conclusive evidence  – historical or archaeological  –
­confirming or falsifying either of them. Their prime value lies in the number of his-
torical phenomena they coherently explain. The present author is convinced that
the ethnogenesis model is more successful in this regard; it is this model that finds
increasing support in the mounting data from the Persepolis Fortification archive.
Overall, it seems to be the ascending perspective, but support for it is not spread
evenly over all (sub)-disciplines implicated by the question. Notably among schol-
ars of comparative Indo-­European linguistics and Iranian religions, the notion of

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large-­scale cultural migration and imposition, alongside the belief in an original and
definable Indo-­European culture and an Aryan homeland, continues to find support.
The case of the Medes may serve as a starting point for our discussion, as it holds
some prognostic value for contemporaneous developments in southern Iran. Assyrian
sources first mention a ‘country of the Medes’ in the northwestern Zagros in 835 BCE.
At that time, the Medes seem to have been neither particularly important nor very con-
spicuous within the medley of polities and ethnic groups that made up northwestern
Iran. In the course of the next two centuries, however, Median territory – as perceived
by the Assyrians – expanded, now comprising a large number of ‘city lords’ and areas
previously not seen as Median (Radner 2003). Eventually, it became a force strong
enough to launch successful raids on the Assyrian heartland. This development can only
mean absorption of other groups into what was, essentially, an open and still forming
identity. To be added to this are, first, the development of (local) administrative and
economic networks in response to Assyrian tribute demands (perhaps inaugurated in
Kassite times) and, secondly, the co-­optation, hence strengthening, of local rulers. These
are typical ingredients for a process known as secondary state formation (Brown 1986).
It was aided by the trade network depending on the Great Khorāsān road, a crucial
artery for both the Assyrians and the Medes, which undoubtedly prompted increased
social stratification. Yet, as Sancisi-­Weerdenburg (1988) pointed out, state formation is
not an irreversible process, at least not until it reaches a certain stability independent
from ad hoc factors and individual rulers. The collapse of the Assyrian empire took
away the critical impetus that had driven the state formation; at the same time, it must
have severely impacted the commercial network that had supported the process.
The lessons to be taken from the Median case for that of the Persians are legion.
First, the comparison prompts the question as to the importance of trade in develop-
ments in the south. The introduction and spread of the dromedary since the late sec-
ond millennium enabled trans-­desert routes that previously would have been hardly
viable. The Fortification archive shows, moreover, that camels were a key factor in
southern Iran and were also deployed on the route from Persepolis to Hinduš and
Gandhāra (Henkelman 2017b: 55–63). It may well be that this Iranian extension of
the emerging camel trade network predated the rise of the Persian Empire. Indeed, it
has been cogently suggested that the new southern trade routes were a decisive factor
behind the mounting Assyrian aggression against southern Babylonia and Elam and,
on the other hand, the emergence of the coalitions of various southern polities (Gib-
son 1991). The crucial difference, however, is that the fall of Nineveh did not impact
the southern network in the way it impacted the northern one; on the contrary, one
may plausibly project that it profited from the sudden break of Assyrian military and
political pressure. The manifold contacts between Elam and Babylonia in the post-­
Assyrian period (Zadok 2011) should certainly be evaluated against this background.
The fact that the chiefs of Samati – perhaps no more than a successful yet local agro-­
pastoralist tribe in late seventh or early sixth-­century southern L
­ orestān – could amass
the amounts of silver nowadays known as the Kalmākarra hoard strongly implies
access to interregional trade networks in which, for example, wool and textiles could
be merchandised. The incredible richness of the princely Arǧān and Ǧūbaǧī tombs,
roughly from the same time, conveys a similar impression of profitable economic
circumstances. References to deliveries of myrrh and frankincense in the Acropole
archive, the find of Levantine tridacna shells at Susa, and the presence of cotton in

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the Arǧān tomb all fit the hypothesis of a developing trade network (see Henkelman
2017b: 60–62, with references). It is not a far stretch to project that the cultural and
social dynamic associated with this network would have become a major factor in the
rise of the Persians and the emergence of their empire.
Insofar as it refers to the southern Zagros – and not to a homonymous (and partly
contemporary) polity in the Kermānšāh region – the toponym Parsu(m)a(š) may with
some confidence be taken to point to early or proto-­Persians in southwestern Iran
(Rollinger 1999, responding to Miroschedji 1985). To be sure, the geographical con-
text given in the Assyrian sources is at times too ambivalent to allow secure distinc-
tion. Šutruk-­Nahhunte II’s plea to [. . .]yâ of Parsumaš to mobilize his troops makes
much more sense, however, if it refers to the southern Zagros (SAA 15 129:6–9;
707 BCE; cf. Fuchs and Parpola 2001: lii n.102). A  similar case can be made for
Parsuaš joining the Elam-­led coalition at the battle of Ḫalulê (691 BCE; Grayson
and Novotny 2012: 259 s.v. Ḫalulê; cf. Waters 2000: 34f.). There, under general
command of an Elamite nāgiru, Elam, Parsuaš, Anzan, Paširu and Ellipi (plus a series
of Chaldean and Aramean districts) stood up to the Assyrians, suggesting that south-
western Iran at this point was as diverse a landscape as northwestern Iran in the ninth
century (cf. Potts 2005: 22; Henkelman 2011a: 600 n.65). But around the turn of
sixth century BCE, Parsip (Elamite pl.), in analogy to ‘Medes,’ seems to have emerged
as the dominant ethnicon in relation to the highlands, as revealed by its use in the
Acropole archive from Neo-­Elamite Susa and in the Palace archive of Nebuchadnez-
zar II (an alternative label ‘Anšanite’ does not occur). Still, its typical combination, in
the Acropole archive, with a toponym suggests a range of local identities rather than
a fully formed and harmonized sense of being Persian (Henkelman 2011a: 603–610).
It is only with Cyrus that one can begin to speak of ‘Persians’ tout court, again not
unlike the Medes under Cyaxares and Astyages.
The aforementioned Acropole archive shows that the eastern Zagros piedmonts,
including the royal city of Hidali, remained under control of the Susa-­centred late Neo-­
Elamite state. It was this zone that retained an important settled population through-
out the Neo-­Elamite period, presumably partly because it lay beyond the scope of the
Assyrian incursions into Elam and had gained vital strategic importance (Carter 1994;
Carter and Wright 2003; Moghaddam and Miri 2003; 2007; Henkelman 2008: 41–43;
Waters 2013: 482f.). Significantly, Hidali, Huhnur/Hunar, Kurdušum and other places
in the same region were under control of the Pārsa administration at the time of Dar-
ius I. Hidali, erstwhile bulwark of the Elamite crown, appears to have remained the
region’s central town, yet it was now integrated into a network centred on Persepolis
(Henkelman 2017b: 97–99). What this suggests, more than simple military conquest,
is a progressive westward ‘Persianisation’ in the context of ethnogenesis (Henkelman
2011a, 609f., 613f.; cf. Basello s.d. 1). In archaeological terms, the process may, with
due caution, be recognized at Tol-­e Nūrābād, where a continuous stratigraphy from
Neo-­Elamite II to early Achaemenid is in evidence (Potts et al. 2009/1388: 38f., 72f.,
77f., 181; cf. McCall 2013 on the surrounding Mamasanī district).
At the same time, the piedmont zone is likely to have played its role in a process
of secondary state formation, again in analogy with the Median case, and probably
coinciding with the process of ethnogenesis. Mid-­seventh century references to Parsu-
mašians appearing at Hidali and, perhaps, attacking Šallukku/Šullaggi (ABL 961, 1309,
1311+; see Waters 1999: 103f. and 2000: 59f., 74) suggest that it was in this region

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that early or proto-­Persians were first confronted with an urban Elamite culture. It may
have been here that such elements as Elamite script, (written) language and bureaucratic
protocol were adopted for the purpose of administration (cf. below). The importance of
the contact zone may in fact be recognized in the very name the Persians gave to ‘Elam,’
as Ūja-­/Ūvja-­ is arguably a cognate of Οὔξιοι (cf. Οὐζία, Οὐαζαίνη), the name of an
(Elamite-­speaking?) ethnos in the Zagros piedmonts region (Henkelman 2011b: 10f.).
The name as well as the title of Kuraš, King of Anšan, better known as Cyrus the
Great, fit the background outlined above, as both point to a milieu in which Elamite
culture was seen as prestigious.
Apart from a very early occurrence (kùr-­áš, Ur III), at least five individuals named
Cyrus occur in the sources from the seventh and sixth centuries BCE: 1. mku-­ra-­áš, a
kinglet of Parsumaš (Annals of Assurbanipal, 639 BCE); 2. [BE]˹ku˺-ráš the Anšanite, son
of Šešpeš (Elamite seal inscription, late 7th cent.); 3. mku-­ra-­áš of Anšan, grandfather of
Cyrus (Cyrus Cylinder; perhaps identical with 2.); 4. BEkur-­ráš, recipient of manufac-
tured items at Neo-­Elamite Susa (Susa Acropole archive, early sixth century); 5. mku-­
ur-­ra-­šú, father of Mardû (promissory note, Babylon, among mostly Elamite names,
541/40); 6. mku-­ra-­áš of Anšan, founder of the Persian Empire (Elḫulḫul Cylinders of
Nabonidus, Nabonidus Chronicle, Cyrus Cylinder, etc.; Zadok 1976: 62f.; Schaudig
2001: 709; Waters 2004: 94; Tavernier 2011: 211f.). The consistency in rendering the
name’s ending (-aš) is eye-­catching; it continues among the hundreds of Babylonian
legal records dating to Cyrus (mku-­ra-­áš, mku-­raš, mkur-­ra-­áš, etc.; never -uš; Tavernier
2007a: 528–530). The alternative form, Kuruš is restricted to Old Persian (ku-­u-­ru-­u-­š)
and occurs only in Bīsotūn (c. 520 BCE), and the short inscriptions that Darius had
made in the name of Cyrus at Pasargadae (Stronach 1990; pace Vallat 2011: 277–279);
the Elamite and Babylonian versions of all these inscriptions again have Kuraš.
The layout of the evidence on the name of Cyrus does not warrant the conviction
with which an Indo-­Iranian etymology has been and still is defended (see, e.g. Schmitt
2009: 102f.). On the contrary, it pleads compellingly against the (often implicit)
assumption that Kuruš must the prius and Kuraš only a derivative variant. If it were,
one would have to provide solid arguments to accommodate not only the rendering
of an original Kuruš as Kuraš – for which there are no phonological or morphological
grounds in Elamite or in Akkadian – but also for the diachronic, cross-­cultural and
multilingual consistency of this supposed “Umdeutung des genuin iranischen Namen”
(Schmitt 2009: 102f.). Such arguments have hitherto not been advanced. As Andreas
(1904: 93f.) already observed, an adaptation Kuraš > Kuruš would be well explicable
in Old Iranian context, where ă-­stems do not have a final -š, but u-­stems do. In short,
the sources favour, a priori, analysis of Kuraš as an original Elamite name, only later
adapted to Kuruš to match Old Persian morphology. The availability of a credible
Elamite etymology based on a familiar name type ([theonym] + verbal form, abbrevi-
ated, as often in the Neo-­Elamite period) reinforces this view (cf. Henkelman 2003a:
194f.; Tavernier 2011: 211–212). Additional support comes from the name of Cyrus’s
ancestor Teispes, the oldest attested form of which is Šešpeš (seal inscription of Kuraš
of Anšan); this name, too, can plausibly be explained as Elamite and belonging to the
same type (Henkelman 2014: 21, with correction in 2017a: 292f. n.34).
Andreas deserves credit for his lucid comments on the name of Cyrus, but that
should not exonerate him for the all too familiar sin he appended to these, that of
taking linguistic phenomena as a direct reflection of a historical reality (“Kyros ist

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also kein Perser gewesen” [emphasis original]; Andreas 1904: 93). Lehmann imme-
diately protested against this facile identification of name and ethnicity (be it on
the grounds that “er unmöglich glauben könne, dass Kyros kein Arier gewesen sei”;
Andreas 1904: 98), suggesting, instead, that the Elamite name might have resulted
from intermarriage. It is interesting to see that exactly the same discussion re-­emerged
in recent decades: as the Elamite interpretation of the name and title of Cyrus gained
traction in the 1990s and 2000s, some took these elements as markers of a distinctly
Elamite (or Anšanite) cultural identity, hence opposed to the explicitly Aryan-­Persian
identity proclaimed by Darius and his successors.
The suggested opposition may well be illusory. Cyrus, for one, gave at least three
of his children Iranian names (Bardiya/Bṛdiya-­, Artystone/*Ṛtastūnā-­ and Atos-
sa/*Hutauθa-­). At the very least, his family onomastics show a mixed picture, not
unlike that of the Neo-­Elamite chiefs of Samati in the Kalmākarra inscriptions (Hen-
kelman 2003a: 22–24; Tavernier 2011 index s.v. Kal.). If anything, the Elamite name
Kuraš, certainly if seen as a dynastic name, betrays its mixed Elamite-­Iranian cultural
context. Perhaps it additionally reflects an appropriation of a prestigious tradition,
but this is uncertain. The title of Cyrus invites similar reflections, be it that it presents
a stronger case for wilful adoption.
One way to understand “King of Anšan” in the Cyrus Cylinder and other Baby-
lonian sources is to take it at face value. After all, at the time of the battle of Ḫalulê
(691; cf. above), southwestern Iran as seen by the Assyrians was still a mosaic of
polities, including Parsuaš and Anšan. Potts initially took this as a lead argument
in positing that Cyrus had actually been king of Anšan, a polity that, as opposed to
Parsuaš and others, was “culturally Elamite, not Persian” (emphasis original) and
whose inhabitants had an Anšanite identity (Potts 2005: 16f.; cf. 2011: 41; modified
in 2016: 304f.). Zournatzi, in a recent reaction, alternatively suggested that the title
“king of (the city of) Anšan,” whatever its precise background, was merely intended
to cater to a Babylonian audience. As a royal style it was in fact “alien to his own
practice,” not unlike Darius’s adoption of Egyptian titles in the hieroglyphic inscrip-
tion on his Susa statue (Zournatzi s.d.; see also Stronach 2013).
The Anšanite titulature of the Teispid line is not limited to Babylonian contexts: it
occurs in the inscription on the seal of “Kuraš of Anzan, son of Šešpeš” (for the read-
ing AŠan-­za-­an-­ir!-ra see Henkelman 2008: 55f. n.135; Elamite seal inscriptions often
include peculiar sign shapes). Garrison’s broad contextualisation of the seal image,
now known from about 20 impressions in the Fortification archive, has established
beyond doubt that it belongs to the second half of the seventh century, that it has
important connections with late Neo-­Assyrian art, but itself belongs to an Iranian
context. He also argued for a highland rather than a Susiana milieu for this particular
glyptic style, perhaps even “a nascent ‘court style’ associated with the Teispid royal
house” (Garrison 2011, citation p. 400f.). At any rate, Elamite elements are evident:
apart from the Neo-­Elamite seal inscription, the motif of the broken bow has clear
Elamite associations (so Waters 2011: 290f.).
The short seal inscription mentioning “Kuraš of Anzan, son of Šešpeš,” although
it does not mention the word ‘king,’ strongly implies rulership of Anzan/Anšan.
Whereas Cyrus, in 539 BCE, may well have been aware that the title “king of (the
city of) Anšan” would reverberate with a Mesopotamian audience, the claim of rul-
ership of Anšan in itself was a datum within the Teispid line long before his conquest

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of Babylon. From this perspective, it is understandable that Potts presents the seal of
Kuraš of Anzan as significant evidence (Potts 2005: 12f.), whereas Zournatzi credits
it with little authority (Zournatzi s.d.).
Contextual analysis of the impressions of the seal of Kuraš of Anzan in the Perse-
polis Fortification archive (siglum: PFS 0093*) shows that it was used by a chief agent
of the crown in sealing receipts for animals procured from the Persepolis economy
for the royal table. The seal, therefore, belonged to a narrowly defined court context.
Not coincidentally, the closest parallel, PFS 0007*, used by the official procuring all
other food commodities for the court, is a so-­called royal name seal stating the name
of Darius (Garrison 1996; 2014: 70f.; Henkelman 2010; 2011a: 581). Both seals
were deployed, in the most literal sense, ‘in the name of the king,’ be it in that of the
reigning monarch, or in that of a perceived distant predecessor with whom he sought
to associate himself. Being exposed to administrative contexts wherever the court
halted, the heirloom seal that had originally belonged to Kuraš of Anzan became an
emblematic argument underscoring Darius’s dynastic claims, not unlike the posthu-
mous ‘Cyrus’ inscriptions in Pasargadae. The historic significance of the seal is there-
fore not in doubt. In fact, its central, narrative and legitimizing role need not have
commenced with Darius: for the Teispids, too, the heirloom may have suggested a
concrete connection to a distant past, to a founding hero, Šešpeš, of whom little was
known. Some would even suspect that the suspiciously clean and straightforward
genealogy Cyrus presents in the Cyrus Cylinder (son of Cambyses I, grandson of
Cyrus I, descendant of Teispes) was inspired by the very seal of Kuraš of Anzan, son
of Šešpeš (so Henkelman 2011a: 602f. n.71).
With the seal of Kuraš of Anzan, a third, specifically Elamo-­Iranian, reading of the
title ‘king of Anšan’ comes into sight. Although not attested for every Neo-­Elamite
king, it is clear that the old title ‘King of Anšan and Susa’ still resonated in Elamite
context in the seventh century and possibly, if the re-­dating of Atta-­hamiti-­Insušnak
is correct, all the way down to c. 520 BCE (Tavernier 2004: 22–29; 2006; Henkel-
man 2008: 6–8, 13f., 362f.). Cultural and chronological proximity forbids discon-
necting the early Persian claim of rulership of Anšan/Anzan from the Middle and
Neo-­Elamite title ‘King of Anšan and Susa.’ There is little doubt that the adoption
of a royal style referring to Anšan/Anzan would, in the late Neo-­Elamite age, have
been understood to stand in rivalry with the Elamite kings whose rule had effectively
become confined to Susa, Khuzestān and the Zagros piedmonts. Simultaneously, it
would have expressed a pretended link to the prestigious line of those same Neo-­
Elamite kings, whose names, styles and copying of Middle Elamite inscriptions in
turn betray a strong historical orientation. It should be noted, in this context, that
Anšan cannot have been a major, central town at the time. Whereas the archaeo-
logical evidence is inconclusive (only part of Tal-­e Malyān has been excavated), the
scarcity of references in both the Acropole and Fortification archives should not be
ignored. Since ‘Persian’ seems to have become the dominant ethnicon in this period
(whereas there is no evidence for ‘Anšanite’), the reference to ‘Anšan/Anzan’ in the
Teispid titulature can hardly be read as a mere geographical marker. Instead, it was a
conscious strategic, ideological choice, a ‘deliberate archaism’ (so Henkelman 2003a:
193f.; cf. 2008: 55–57; Waters 2004: 94; Potts 2011).
Cyrus and his contemporaries arguably considered themselves Persian, but they
lived in a time when Elam and Elamite culture were still important referents and in

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which a royal style referring to Anšan/Anzan would have reverberated widely. With
the emergence of empire and the inclusion and consolidation of vast Iranian-­speaking
territories, the focus, naturally, shifted. Darius’s choice to emphasize that he was ‘Per-
sian’ and ‘Aryan’ (i.e. Iranian-­speaking) does not constitute a radical break from this
perspective but the maturing of an ethnic identity (Henkelman 2011a: 610–614).
Just how complicated the construction of a Persian identity was is illustrated by
two other, be it ephemeral, rulers of southwestern Iran. One, Āçina son of Upadarma,
rose in Elam or part thereof at the time of Darius’s accession, claimed kingship over
Elam, was labelled an Elamite in the Elamite and Babylonian versions of Bīsotūn,
but had an Iranian name and patronymic (DBe I.56–60, 63–65; DBb 29–33; cf. DBp
I.72–77, 81–83). The other, Martiya, son of Cincaxriš (both names presumably Ira-
nian), resided in Kuganakā in Pārsa, yet rebelled in Elam and took an Elamite royal
name, Ummanuš (i.e. a theophoric name containing ‘Humban’  – DBe II.4–8; DBp
II.8–13; DBb 41f.). These cases show that the process of acculturation, or indeed of
Persian ethnogenesis, was an active and wide-­reaching phenomenon even around
520 BCE, stretching into territory that was then still seen as ‘Elamite’ (Henkelman
2003a: 183f.; Potts 2016: 315f.; for the names see Tavernier 2003: 247–250; 2007a:
12 [1.2.1], 15 [1.2.12], 20 [1.2.24, .28]).
The original residence of the rebel Martiya, Kuganakā (Kukkannakan, Kugu-
nakka), evokes another element of possible Elamite-­Iranian continuity. The place was
not, as one might suspect, located somewhere in the transitional zone between Fārs
and Khūzestān: well-­attested in the Fortification archive as ‘Kuknakkan,’ it appears
to belong to the district of Tirazziš (ancient Šīrāz). Like Matannan, which must have
been relatively near, it was the site of an estate (ulhi, lit. “house”) of queen Irtašduna
(*Ṛtastūnā-­, Artystone), daughter of Cyrus. Matannan had been developed as a pala-
tial site under Cambyses and this may have been the reason why Darius (re-­)granted
it to his Teispid wife (Henkelman and Kleber 2007; Henkelman 2010: 698–703).
Kuganakā/Kuknakkan seems to have had a similar fate: the seat of a powerful and
presumably noble Persian with political aspirations in ‘Elam’ (i.e. the eastern part
thereof?) at the time of Darius’s accession, it was subsequently granted to Irtašduna
(Henkelman 2017b: 196–198).
As evidence from Bactria, Arachosia, Egypt, Babylonia and the Persian heartland
demonstrates, the phenomenon of the landed-­estates held by the imperial élites and
the higher ranks of the bureaucracy (thus remunerated for their service) was common
all over the Achaemenid Empire. Estates were not only essential economic assets (for
the holder) and an effective means to develop the provinces (for the state) but also
emblems of social prestige and, as Stolper puts it, ‘determinants of political behavior’
(Stolper 1985: 52; cf. Briant 2002: 444–446, 460–463, 943, 945; Henkelman 2017b:
165–167). Also, especially the larger estates and domains (in the sense of collective
assets of an individual or family), constituted their own household economies, as
references to dependent workers, accountants and storage facilities make clear. For
all these aspects, the question as to the origin and antiquity of the phenomenon is a
vital one, as it potentially relates to the formation of Persian élites and, with that, to
the evolution of early-­Persian society.
In the Fortification archive, the most frequently used term for estate is irmadim (or
irmatam, when reading gim with an Elamite value tam0), reflecting Old Iranian *ṛmā-
tam (Tavernier 2007a: 447 [4.4.12.10]; Henkelman s.d. 1). This term is once found in

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the Acropole archive from Susa. In MDP 9 109, various items are distributed to three
individuals: Huban-­danna; Ubukra, wife of Huban-­rašma; and Huban-­rašma himself
(Scheil 1907: 98f.; Tavernier 2011: 207). The name of the last recipient is followed
(l.13) by ir-­mad-­dím, which either indicates the place of delivery or identifies Huban-­
rašma as holder of an estate. Hinz concluded from this single reference that the Ira-
nian term must refer to a Persian concept adopted by the Elamites; that all Persians
and people with Iranian names receiving items in the Acropole archive were estate-­
holders; that they were under obligation of military service to the Elamite crown; that
they were the avant-­garde of much larger waves of Iranians, who would eventually
take control of Elam on their path to their glorious, predestined future (Hinz 1987,
esp. 130–134; cf. 1973: 60–63). These inferences are entirely unsubstantiated and of
little consequence in the debate, except for the observation that the term irmadim
occurs in a Neo-Elamite archive that indeed contains Old Iranian onomastic material
(Tavernier 2011). This appears to suggest that the phenomenon of estates – somehow
bound to the central authority of Susa and therefore explicitly mentioned – existed
around 600 BCE. Its social setting, it may be assumed, was the accultured Elamite-­
Iranian world of that time, hence the occasional appearance of an Iranian term.
There may be other evidence, though it is admittedly circumstantial. Irdabama,
queen and perhaps mother of Darius, had an estate (ulhi) at Šullaggi, a town in
eastern Khūzestān. This economically very active and powerful woman sealed let-
ter orders and other documents in the Fortification archive with her privy seal, an
heirloom belonging to the same group as the seal of Kuraš of Anzan (PFS 0051; cf.
below). Yet another such heirloom seal was used by her agent, Rašda. It is this last
seal, PFS 0077*, that shows an audience scene with a seated female; its Neo-­Elamite
inscription reads “Šeraš, daughter of Huban-­ahpi.” Henkelman suggested that this
last Huban-­ahpi is the same as the ‘Huban-­ahpi of Šulluggi' in the Acropole archive.
If so, a hypothesis can be made that Huban-­ahpi not only fathered Šeraš, but also was
an ancestor of Irdabama and that for this very reason Irdabama held an estate at Šul-
laggi, that is, in analogy to the estate Matannan held by Irtašduna as leading member
of the Teispid line and successor to Cambyses and Bardiya (Henkelman 2011a: 613).
In such a scenario, one could picture Irdabama and her family as prestigious (part of
the old Elamite élite), rich (having an estate or lands at Šullaggi), and taking part in
the Elamite-­Iranian acculturation (Irdabama is an Iranian name), hence an attractive
party for a Persian like Hystaspes (if Irdabama was indeed Darius’s mother). Though
this reading of the evidence remains speculative, it signals the potential relevance of
landed estates in the transition from Neo-­Elamite to early-­Persian society.
The seal of Kuraš of Anzan is, as Garrison has shown, exceptional, but not unique
(Garrison 2011). It belongs to a small group of seals, all known from impressions
in the Fortification archive, which otherwise includes the seals of Irdabama and
her agent (PFS 0051, PFS 0077*) and a seal showing a seated deity (PFS 1308*, cf.
below). As pointed out earlier, the critical locus of this glyptic was probably in the
Neo-­Elamite or early-­Persian (Garrison: Anzanite) highlands. While reflecting wide
cultural associations, the seals were local products made in and for an Iranian milieu.
Beyond their art-­historical significance, the four heirloom seals also have important
historical implications. Their very existence points to a need for authentication and
expression of jurisdiction in written context. This context presumably was an adapted
form of Neo-­Elamite cuneiform writing (as the seal inscriptions also imply). That

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there are at least four such seals, apparently all handed down in royal or élite contexts,
implies a social stratum, rather than one exceptional individual, that had adopted the
use of these instruments. If one, with Garrison, associates the glyptic tradition under
discussion with the early Teispids and their milieu, it follows that this early-­Persian
acculturated society of the late seventh century engaged in (Elamite) writing and pre-
sumably played a pivotal role in emerging bureaucratic and administrative structures.
The view presented here matches well with the fact that the Acropole archive,
which is only one or two generations younger, evidences an intricate administrative
network including the Zagros piedmonts and co-­opting various groups of Parsip,
“Persians” and individuals with Iranian names. Given the overall dynamic of sec-
ondary state formation and the impact of the sedentary zone of eastern Khūzestān,
it is entirely unsurprising that administrative structures would develop in the regions
directly adjacent. The Acropole archive yields glimpses of this process as it happened.
The seals of Kuraš of Anzan and his contemporaries are concrete testimonies to the
same effect but carry more weight given their continued use, as heirloom objects, in
the mature administrative contexts from the reign of Darius.
Incidentally, one of the seals regularly impressed on tablets in the Acropole archive
has an inscription that can tentatively be read as “Andada son of king/chief Taššek” (see
Garrison, Chapter 32 this volume; not retrograde, despite Vallat 1995). Taššek seems
to be an Iranian name (*Dāθayak-­; Tavernier 2011: 198). The fact that nothing else is
known about this person shows the level of our ignorance but also the potential scope
of Elamite-­Iranian acculturation, notably in administrative and bureaucratic contexts.
In a 1978 paper, Stolper showed that the appellative lúšá-­ár-­nu-­up-­pu, occurring in
a single Neo-­Assyrian letter (ABL 281), reflected Elamite *šarnup, which he explained
as ‘intended recipients of rations apportioned’ and which he connected to the verbal
base šara-­, ‘to apportion,’ one of the key terms of the Fortification and Treasury
archives (Stolper 1978, despite De Vaan 1998: 72–73). The letter in question speaks
of workers who depend on rations (ina libbi balṭū, ‘they live on it’) that are issued
by a centralized redistributive household economy that managed a large territory.
The connection with the ‘Persepolis economy’ of the reigns of Darius I, Xerxes and
Artaxerxes I is therefore not only etymological but apparently also generic in nature.
In Persepolis, too, large numbers of dependent workers, kurtaš, formed the backbone
of a regional institutional system; their dependence is similarly expressed by the fre-
quent addition gal makip, ‘consuming rations’ (Henkelman 2008: 18f.).
A fleeting reference in the preserved Constantinian Excerpta of Nicolaus of Damas-
cus states that, among the Medes, any pauper may subject himself to a rich man for
nourishment, be fed and clothed, and henceforth be regarded as equal in status to
the latter’s slave (F66 §2, presumably in turn based on Ctesias, F8d §2 Lenfant). This
information, given in the context of the Cyrus legend, may refer to a phenomenon
documented in developed form in primary sources from the Achaemenid period. The
most evolved version is that of the aforementioned dependent labourers, kurtaš, of
the household economy of Persepolis, who received about two-­thirds of their nutri-
tional needs from the state (Henkelman s.d. 4 §2.5). In this setting, the term signifies
state-­dependency. The underlying Old Iranian word, gṛda-­, ‘domestic servant’ points,
however, to an origin in actual household contexts (cf. Av. gǝrǝda-­, ‘house, dwelling,’
Skt. gṛhá-­, ‘house, property,’ Eng. yard, Germ. Garten, etc.; see Tavernier 2007a: 423f.
[4.4.7.54]). Egyptian (Aramaic) and Babylonian sources from the Achaemenid period

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take an intermediate position as they use grd’/gardu in connection with estates, hence
in semi-­public contexts (Stolper 1985: 56–59; Briant 2002: 455–460, 944f.; Tuplin
2013: 43, 75–77, 101f.). The same seems true for the Elamite version of the Bīsotūn
inscription, where Darius claims to have restored to the free and able-­bodied men
(taššup) their livestock and kurtaš (as well as the ‘house/estate-subjects’; DBe I.49;
DBp I.65 has māniya-­, ‘house personnel,’ DBb 26 lúḫun.gámeš, ‘hirelings, hired labour-
ers’). It would not be surprising if an Elamite redistributive economic model involving
larger forces of dependent labourers impacted early Persian society, more precisely
the status and deployment of gṛda-­workers. This idea would gain strength if, as sug-
gested, estates played a role in the transition from Elamite to early-­Persian society.
The most important elements in the dossier on administrative heritage have
hitherto only been mentioned in passing: writing and language. That Elamite was
important in Achaemenid context is easy to establish. The Fortification and Treasury
archives from Persepolis bear witness to it, as do isolated texts from Achaemenid
Susa and Qandahār (Arachosia). Elamite originally was the only language of Darius’s
Bīsotūn monument; the Old Persian and Akkadian versions were added at a later
stage. For the early Persians, as also appears from the inscriptions on the seals of
Kuraš of Anzan and his contemporaries, writing first and foremost meant writing in
Elamite (cf. Stolper 2005: 20).
Writing in Elamite, in the days of Darius I, furthermore meant writing in a script
that continued developments peculiar to Elamite cuneiform and occurring from
about 650 or 600 onwards. These characteristics include a progressively reduced
sign inventory and the adoption of particular writing rules (disharmonious spelling,
conventions to render Iranian diphthongs). Late Elamite script is, moreover, visually
distinct from Mesopotamian cuneiform of the same period, a difference that was
recognized in antiquity. At Bīsotūn, for one, the Elamite and Babylonian versions
consistently use signs that are distinct in shape and morphology and thus give very
different aethetic impressions (cf. Stolper 2005: 20; s.d.).
The observation that an indigenous school of cuneiform writing existed and
continued from Neo-­Elamite into Achaemenid times has further implications. The
ascending view on the genesis of the Old Persian script holds that the distinct tradi-
tion of Elamite cuneiform provided the main inspiration, presumably among scribes
themselves versed in Elamite writing (D’Erme 1990; Rossi 2005; Basello s.d. 2). Just
how crucial the impulse from Elamite writing was appears from the Old Persian
word for ‘inscription, tablet,’ dipi, a loan from Elamite tuppi (pronounced /tipi/; Tav-
ernier 2007b [it ultimately derives from Sumerian]).
Who wrote in Achaemenid Elamite, and why? In the Landnahme model men-
tioned at the beginning of this chapter, the conquering Persians are assumed to have
deployed Elamites as their clerks, not bothering to engage in writing themselves. An
extreme version of this hypothesis held that written Elamite cuneiform was actually
no more than a code for spoken Old Iranian (alloglottography: Gershevitch 1979; cf.
Hinz 1971: 271, 308f.). More recently, and in line with of model of Elamite-­Iranian
acculturation, Achaemenid Elamite has been characterized as a morphosyntactically
restructured form of the language resulting from second language acquisition by
native speakers of Old Iranian (Henkelman 2011a: 586–595, 614–622; Yakubovich
2008: 207). This view agrees with the observation that when, occasionally, the eth-
nicity of the Persepolis scribes needed to be made explicit (to distinguish them from

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Aramaic scribes), they were called ‘Persians,’ not ‘Elamites’ (Henkelman 2008: 348–
350; 2011a: 587f.; Henkelman and Stolper 2009: 275–278).
Achaemenid Elamite, perhaps more properly described as ‘Irano-­Elamite,’ not only
contains numerous Iranian loanwords but betrays imposition of grammatical fea-
tures from Old Iranian. An example is the ablatival use of the Elamite separative
suffix ikkimar, a grammatical calque on hacā, ‘away from, by,’ with the same dual
function. Other signs of language interference are the use of the relative pronoun as
article and the completion of the sets of the demonstrative pronouns with ‘here’ and
‘there’ deixis in conformity with the Iranian paradigms. All such changes increased
isomorphism between the two languages and thus facilitated code switching. More
generally, reduction of morphosyntactical complexity made access to the contact-­
induced form of the Elamite language much easier, notably in those areas of the gram-
mar that were very distinct from Old Iranian (and other Indo-­European languages).
The best example in this regard is the radical generalisation of a single suffix (‑na) for
all attributive constructions, replacing the more complex system of gender suffixes
expressing person, number and gender.
The late, morphosyntactically restructured form of Elamite is unlikely to have
emerged among native speakers of the language: the changes that occur are too radical
for such a scenario and rather point to the agency of iranophones. At the same time,
as always, the language interference was not a one-­sided process. Adaptation of Ira-
nian loanwords to inherited Elamite morphology also occurs, and this phenomenon
is typical for the agentivity of native speakers. Adaptation to native morphology was
concentrated in the western Fahliyān region. In this same area, presumed to have had
a stronger presence of native or near-­native speakers of Elamite, there is a clear pref-
erence for Elamite technical words and month names instead of Old Iranian equiva-
lents. The scribes that belong to this profile form a minority of 10–15%, however: the
main body of the administrative personnel must have been iranophones. They used
Elamite in a situation of asymmetrical bilingualism, expressing themselves reasonably
well in Elamite in administrative matters but probably less so in other settings.
Common sense suggests an intimate connection between the introduction of
Elamite writing on the one hand and administrative structures and bureaucratic pro-
tocol on the other: introduction of script as an abstract skill, without its practical
basis, seems unlikely. If more complex forms of administration, involving the use of
seals and script, indeed started to emerge among the early Persians in the seventh
century BCE or even before, the adoption of the Elamite language as a language
of writing may well have occurred at the same time. This does not mean, however,
that the Persian use of Elamite was necessarily limited to bureaucracy. It may well
have been used in the increasing contacts between iranophone highlanders and the
Elamites of the contact zone of the Zagros piedmonts. Indeed, the Parsip approaching
representatives of the Neo-­Elamite state at Susa, Hidali and elsewhere would hardly
have made themselves understandable by speaking Iranian.
A long-­term scenario, whereby Elamite was in use among Persians for more than a
century before the reign of Darius, would account for the relative stability and coherence
of the contact-­induced variety of the language as documented in the Persepolis archives.
Yet a later date and more restricted setting for the genesis of Achaemenid Elamite is cer-
tainly not excluded. In that case, adoption of Elamite would have been a means to meet
with the rising complexity of Persian society under Cyrus or his immediate predecessors

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and would have enabled the administrative structures necessary for, as an example, the
great building projects at Pasargadae and Taoce. In both scenarios, one expects a conti-
nuity of administrative jargon and details of bureaucratic protocol from the Neo-­Elamite
to the Achaemenid period. Here, however, we reach the limits of the evidence at hand.
As remarked at the start of this chapter, Elamite administrative corpora from dif-
ferent periods are rarely comparable in terms of genre, bureaucratic level and admin-
istrative perspective. The detailed comparison, undertaken by Basello, between the
Neo-­Elamite Susa Acropole archive (manufactured items) and the Persepolis archives
(livestock, food commodities, silver payments in lieu of rations in kind) yielded few
parallels. Not a single formulaic expression is carried over from the Neo-­Elamite to the
Achaemenid corpus, and the general level of convergence is limited. The most signifi-
cant evidence is probably the shared use of the key term kurman (identifying the officer
‘handling’ the items/commodities in the recorded transaction), which may continue a
tradition going back to Middle Elamite times. That the evidence from divergent termi-
nologies should not be taken as an absolute verdict is shown by a few minor categories
as well as by exceptional texts spilled over from other branches of administration into
the Fortification archive. The format of tablets regarding exchange of surplus (sut) is
strikingly similar to that of a particular range of tablets in the Acropole archive. A sin-
gle text on manufactured items (PF 0335) is, by a number of standards, much closer
to the Acropole corpus than the average Fortification text (Basello 2011; cf. 2012a).
Elamite script and language, it should be underlined, were not Fremdkörper in their
new setting: they had become Persian things that Persians used. Not only did Persians
adopt Elamite as their way to communicate in writing, especially in the context of
administration, and not only did they unconsciously impose features of their mother-­
tongue onto it, but they also rendered it more Persian in the particular use of inherited
features. The increased deployment of phonetic complements (matres lectionis), for one,
would have especially aided iranophones. More important from a cultural perspective is
the extended use of determinatives, particularly the one for divinity (AN). In Achaemenid
Elamite it is applied not only to divine names, but also to temples, rites, priests, days,
months and so on, hence reflecting a world-­view informed by (Indo‑)Iranian tradition.
Such adaptations point to a community of iranophone scribes who felt themselves at
home in the language of writing. Some even mastered the language well enough to be
inventive; the prime example is the production of abbreviations, a kind of new ‘logo-
grams,’ from Old Iranian loanwords (such as paMEŠ for banura = *panīra-­, ‘cheese’).
Potts rightly pointed out that the technical skills, garment styles or such heirloom
forms as the ‘Elamite dagger’ by themselves need not spell a very profound Elamo-­
Iranian acculturation. In a minimalist approach, as he surmises, one would consider
all these as ‘epiphenomena . . . which fail to convince one of any meaningful Elamite
contribution to the idea of Iran or Iranian identity’ (Potts 2005: 11–13). Potts’ answer
was to point out the significance of Cyrus’s name and title, as discussed above. Today,
after a decade of intensified research on Elamites and Persians, one can be more con-
fident and count writing and religion among the areas of significant contribution. The
first, as argued here, came in a context of emergent administrative structures among
the early Persians and was internalized as part of Persian culture.
Recent work has shown that institutional networks of the Persepolis type existed
at Achaemenid Susa and Ecbatana, and that Elamite (alongside Aramaic) was used at
these centres. A similar argument can be made for a range of other places, including

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Taoce, Gabae and Kṛmāna (Kermān), suggesting that most of the western Iran plateau
was covered by such networks (Henkelman 2017b: 109–149). All this could still,
with some effort, be explained as an organic growth of an inherited Elamite model
which the Persians adopted and expanded. The Elamite Arachosian tablets and other
evidence from Achaemenid Arachosia, however, forcefully point to another expla-
nation: that of Persians conceiving the inherited institutional economy as a system
that they could advantageously use as a template for setting up complex administra-
tive and bureaucratic structures in areas where these were absent or underdeveloped
(Fisher and Stolper 2015; Henkelman 2017b: 150–174). Elamite writing, bureau-
cratic protocol and administrative tradition, then, were not epiphenomena in a brave
new Persian world but essential tools for building and organizing it. For sure, the
Achaemenids were quick to acquire a whole range of other means and mechanisms to
further and sustain their empire, but the Elamite contribution, adopted and adapted
in a truly Persian society, provided the original impetus.
The historical panorama stretching from the seal of Kuraš of Anzan to the use of
Elamite at Achaemenid Qandāhar leaves no doubt as to the internalisation of bureau-
cratic and administrative traditions by the Persians. The evidence on Elamite elements
in Persian religion allows for a similar vision: not one of ‘tolerated’ yet essentially
foreign cults but of inherited traditions that were meaningfully adopted and adapted.
PFS 1308*, mentioned earlier in this chapter as one of the four Neo-­Elamite/early-­
Persian heirloom seals known from the Persepolis Fortification archive, depicts a
female deity seated on a throne, holding a mace and wearing a crenelated and horned
polos headdress. Whereas a number of elements have Assyro-­Babylonian antecedents,
details of the composition and style point to a local background. The Neo-­Elamite seal
inscription points in the same direction (Garrison 2011: 387–390). The seal is attested
only once; it probably belonged to a high-­placed traveller by the name of Bakabadada
(PF 1385). Some other individuals with Iranian names used seals with seal inscriptions
stating the names of individuals with Elamite names; these seals are younger than the
four heirloom seals discussed here but nevertheless of interest. A notable example is
the seal inscribed with the (Elamite) name of ‘Huban-­ahpi, son of Šati-­Huban,’ used
by Iršena (*Ṛšēna-), the important director of the Fahliyān region (PFS 0004*). Of this
last seal, Walther Hinz, in a letter to Richard Hallock, wrote that he found it incredi-
ble that the administrator Iršena had inherited his seal from an Elamite (Henkelman
2008: 119 with n.263). This is, however, exactly the point: Elamite elements are not
only absorbed but they find new meaning and context in the Persian period. The same
is arguably true for the goddess on Bakabadada’s seal and, for that matter, for all dei-
ties and rites of Elamite background attested in the Fortification archive.
The latest survey of named deities in the Fortification archive, on the basis of an
enlarged edited corpus, confirms a trend observed earlier: that gods with an Elamite
background are well presented in the cultic landscape of ancient Pārsa. Table 39.1
lists all deities mentioned more than once in the available sample of the archive (c.
6400 Elamite texts and fragments as of January 2017). It indicates the cultural back-
ground, the number of attestations and  – important in an economic context  – the
aggregate volume of the deities’ sacrifices expressed in barley value (see Henkelman
s.d. 2 for full data; reconstructed Iranian theonyms after Tavernier 2007a).
Humban stands unrivalled in terms of attestations and aggregate volume
(6455+/6585+ l.). The latter is more than three times higher than that of Auramazdā

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Table 39.1  List of deities mentioned more than once in the Fortification archive.

Elamite Iranian attestations aggregate maximum

volume:
minimum
1. Humban  32 6455+ l. 6585+ l.
2. Mišdušiš *Miždušī- 7 2095+ l. 2095+ l.
3. Uramasda Auramazdā 13 2171+ l. 2331+ l.
4. Napiriša 26 1880+ l. 1920+ l.
5. Adad 12 1715 l.
+
1775+ l.
6. Išpanda- *Spandārmatiš/ 9 900+ l. 900+ l.
ramattiš - aramatiš
7. Mariraš *(H)uvarīra-? 8 450+ l. 450+ l.
8. Šetrabattiš *Šēθrapatiš 5 330 l. 330 l.
9. Pirdaka- 3 210 l. 210 l.
miya
10. Narišanka *Bṛakām(i)ya- 3 270 l. 270 l.
11. ‘Earth’ (?) *Narēsanga- 5 270 l. 270 l.

(2171+/2331+ l.) and almost as much as that of all gods with an (Indo-­)Iranian back-
ground taken together (6486+/6646+ l.). This, with the prominence of Napiriša and
Adad, and with the additional presence of Earth (if the logogram KI refers to an
Elamite deity: Henkelman 2008: 324–331; s.d. 3 §2.6), Nabbazabba, Šimut, Ziz-
kurra, and Nah (Nahhunte?), shows that the significance of the Elamite element in
the divine world of the Persian heartland is unambiguous. What cause controversy
are the cultural inferences drawn from this circumstance.
One approach, in agreement with the Landnahme model, takes the evidence from
the Fortification archive as essentially coherent with the assumption of an inherited
and mature Iranian religion, more particularly of a form of Zoroastrianism (or Maz-
daism, etc.). Elamite elements are seen as either tolerated yet extraneous to the ances-
tral religion (Hinz 1970: 427–430; 1976/1979 II: 192–202; Koch 1977; 1987; 2011:
108–137; Boyce 1982: 132–149), or as adapted to an existing structure without sig-
nificantly impacting that same structure (Kellens 2012; Kreyenbroek 2012). A major
problem confronting this view, especially in its more extreme form (tolerated Elamite
paganism), is the relatively low rank of Auramazdā. His non-­exclusive position
appears to contrast sharply with the evidence from Achaemenid royal inscriptions; it
certainly diverges from traditional views on Achaemenid Persian religion.
A past remedy has been to identify the so-­called lan-­sacrifice as the exclusive rite
for Auramazdā. Since lan, at the time, was only known to occur without explicit
reference to a particular deity, and since it is frequently attested, its proposed asso-
ciation with Auramazdā seemed an admissible and convenient means to restore
the latter’s status as foremost god and bring the Fortification archive on a par with
the royal inscriptions. Contextual evidence had already severely undermined this

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view (Razmjou 2004; Henkelman 2005: 140–143; 2008: 214–253), when a deci-
sive counter-­argument came to light in the form of several attestations of ‘lan for
Napiriša’ (Henkelman 2017a: 283–287, 324). These do not imply that all lan sacri-
fices were made for this originally Elamite god, but it excludes analysis of the word
lan as a scribal shorthand for ‘Auramazdā-­sacrifice.’ With that conclusion, the image
of an administration that spent more of its means on Humban than on Auramazdā
returns with full force. How, then, is this situation to be understood?
The case of lan and Napiriša is particularly important for the question of Elamite
elements in Achaemenid religion. lan, an inherited Elamite term for ‘offering,’ was
part of a web of cognate forms that was important in Middle and Neo-­Elamite cultic
terminology and remained productive in Achaemenid Elamite (Vallat 2000; Henkel-
man 2008: 192–203, 241f., 254–280). A recent addition to this file is the short late
Neo-­Elamite inscription on one of the gold ‘rings’ from the Ǧūbaǧī tomb, which reads
la-­ar-­na, ‘for/belonging to the sacrificiant.’ In Persepolis, one finds, among others, the
verbal base la-­‘to offer’ (especially in connection with Humban), the appellative lan-­
lirira, ‘oblator’ (a qualification of makuš) and the compound lankul, ‘offering-­prayer’
(cf. kulla-­; Henkelman s.d. 5). This rich context forbids disconnecting lan from its
Elamite past and reading it as merely an old word for a new reality (an Indo-­Iranian
cult). Instead, it shows continuity of a technical sacrificial vocabulary used alongside
Iranian loanwords for specific cultic phenomena.
The most consequential case of lan for Napiriša (Fort. 1316–101:14’) is connected
to Anzamannakka, a place in the so-­called ‘northern cluster’ along the road to Media.
Henkelman has argued that Napiriša’s cult in this area may have been relatively new:
it was brought there by Persians in the context of their extending administrative net-
work and institutional economy, of which cultic activity was an essential component
(Henkelman 2017a: 277–281, 287). Napiriša, in other words, had become a Persian
god, an inference also borne out by the circumstance that he was recipient of an akriš
(Fort. 1785–103), a rare but seemingly important celebration, the name of which is
Iranian (Henkelman s.d. 3 §5).
The adoption of Napiriša’s cult into, and adaptation to, its new the Persian con-
text should be placed in a longue durée perspective. The overall strength of the cult
in Achaemenid Pārsa may well be based on Napiriša’s long-­time connection with the
highland parts of Elam (Henkelman s.d. 2 §2.4). Most scholars agree that the cen-
tral male deity at Kūrāngūn and Naqš-­e Rustam is Napiriša (or Napiriša-­Inšušinak),
dispensing, as the Elamite Ea/Enki, the fertilising streams of water emerging from
the deep (Vallat 2002/03: 533f., 543f.; Potts 2004: 152–154; undecided: Seidl 1986:
20f.). The fact that both open-­air sanctuaries were enlarged with additional sculp-
ture, hence still in active use in the Neo-­Elamite period, is relevant here, as it allows
for a direct link between the veneration of Napiriša in the highlands in the time
before and that after Cyrus.
Incidentally, there is a Fortification seal (PFS 1312s) which shows (the statue) of a
male deity flanked by composite creatures. One of these is a goat-­fish, associated with
Ea/Enki in Mesopotamia. The same creature is well attested in Elamite art, where it
may be an emblem of Napiriša (Garrison 2017: 201; cf. Amiet 1994: 64f.).
The permanence in certain cults suggested in the case of Napiriša does not stand
on its own. Humban’s leading position among the gods mentioned in the Fortification
archive, for one, clearly continues his surging popularity in the eighth, seventh and

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sixth centuries BCE. His role as the Enlil of the Elamite pantheon (suggested by the
commentaries to Šurpu) is not only reflected in the many Neo-­Elamite royal names
with the element ‘Humban’ (the last one being the aforementioned rebel Ummanuš) or
in Hanni of Ayapir’s reference to Humban, ‘under whose kitin a king (stands),’ but also
in the ideologically charged bakadaušiyam celebrations organized in his honour under
Darius I. Not co-­incidentally, Auramazdā, too, figures prominently in the same context.
Although it would be reductive to postulate a one-­to-­one connection, there is every
reason to suspect that the role Humban assumed in the later Neo-­Elamite period, that
of a typical royal god, informed the profile of Auramazdā as visible in the royal inscrip-
tions (Henkelman 2008: 353–384; 2017a: 306–319; s.d. 2 §2.1; cf. Gaspa 2017).
Some have pointed out the absence of prominent Elamite gods such as Inšušinak
from the Fortification archive, and even inferred from it that his followers had turned
their back on him, disappointed that he had forsaken them against the Babylonians
and the Persians (so Koch 1995: 1963). It is not difficult to counter this e silentio argu-
ment: Inšušinak’s traditional ties were with Susa and the Susiana, hence with a region
from which hardly any Achaemenid administrative sources are preserved (Henkelman
2017a: 281f. with n.16). The few snippets that we have, however, do include reference
to the continued cult of Nanāya at Achaemenid Susa (Joannès 1990: 173–175). Late
Neo-­Elamite royal inscriptions indicate continued worship, at that time, of Inšušinak,
Humban, Pinigir, and Napiriša (EKI 77–80, 82–84), as does the Acropole archive for
Inšušinak, Šimut, Hutran, Šazi and Zizi-­pahha, some of whom had several local cult
centres (Vallat 2002/03: 534–536; Basello 2017: 363–367; Henkelman s.d. 6). Given
the marked role of gods of Elamite descent in Achaemenid Fārs, it would be unwise to
assume a dramatic rupture in the parallel case of Khūzestān, only because textual evi-
dence is scant. More plausible is a scenario of continuity of at least some of the major
cults, besides the attested one of Nanāya. One wonders, in this context, whose temple
it was which was plundered at Susa during the absence of Alexander (Arrian Anabasis
VI.27.5; see also Álvarez-­Mon 2011: 346–349 on Nabû and Marduk).
The various elements evoked with regard to the Elamite heritage in the Persian
heartland religion provide the basis from which other elements may be explained.
This is particularly true for aspects of Persian cultic space, cultic practice and cultic
personnel, as documented in the Fortification archive and elsewhere. An important
example is the duality of temple and open-­air worship, which existed in Elamite and
Persian culture alike.
The richness of Elamite temple culture is evident from the many inscriptions
dedicated to the building and rebuilding of sanctuaries (siyan) throughout Elam
(Potts 2010), but also from the apocalyptic tale of Susa’s doom told by Assurbani-
pal (Prisms A VI:27–69 ~ F V:19–48; Borger 1996: 53–55, 241). In it, not only the
capture of divine paraphernalia and temple property are mentioned, but also that of
temple administrators (sangē) and cultic personnel (buhlalē > *puhu-­lar; Vallat 2001;
Henkelman 2008: 272–274). The Persepolis Bronze Plaque adds to these categories
that of the puhu ziyanup, ‘temple servants,’ perhaps a class of oblates (Henkelman
2008: 273f., 315). The Neo-­Elamite Šutruru Stela (EKI 74), centring on the priest
Šutruru, seems to document a complicated land grant (so Reiner 1969: 61f.; Koch
1980: 108–113; Waters 2000: 18f.). In short, economic activities of Elamite temples
are alluded to in the sources; seen within the wider ancient Near Eastern context, this
is, of course, anything but surprising.

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The Fortification archive includes a few isolated references to temples (ziyan); each
of these suggests an economic entity of some importance. An amount of 9405 l. wine
was ordered for the temple at Hakurtiš, to give the most telling example. Perhaps the
rareness of such references should be explained as a function of the relative auton-
omy of the sanctuaries (Henkelman 2008: 469–473, 547f.; 2017a: 287–290; s.d. 3
§3.1). If indeed they were institutional households of their own, the phenomenon
may well have been informed by Elamite tradition.
Elamite and Indo-­Iranian traditions shared a susceptibility to bodies of water
and elevated places as numinous loci where mortal man might approach the divine.
Kūrāngūn and the water-­rich gorges of Kūl-­e Farah and Šekaft-­e Salmān are capti-
vating examples of the Elamite tradition, but they are also of direct relevance here
as they are all situated in what would become the Persian heartland (Álvarez-­Mon
2013; Canepa 2013; Henkelman and Khaksar 2014; cf. Rapin 2017 on raised plat-
forms of Achaemenid Central Asia). Since water was a key element in a number of
Achaemenid monuments (Bīsotūn, Naqš-­e Rustam, Ganǧnāmeh, Qadamgāh), it is
tempting to postulate a connection with the Elamite past. Indeed, the Fortification
archive is rich in references to river and mountain sacrifices, one of which is an offer-
ing for Humban at the river Betir (‘Hostile, Adversary’). Contextual data for assign-
ing the rites to a particular god or cultural tradition are lacking for all other cases,
however. At any rate, the question of their cultural affiliation is probably moot since,
in all likelihood, Elamite and Indo-­Iranian traditions both contributed to the Persian
rites (Henkelman 2008: 224, 377–380, 392f., 536–541; s.d. 3 §3.2).
A dossier that has emerged only in recent years is that of the funerary cult of Per-
sian kings. Again, some of its elements point to the Elamite past.
Food offerings for the deceased are well attested in Elam, as they are in the ancient
Near East in general (Carter 2011; Wicks 2015: 76–79, 93–97). Assurbanipal, in the
above-­quoted passage, prided himself on having deprived the royal shades of food
offerings and water. The best-­known individual cult, involving a statue/stela image of
the king, is that of Tepti-­ahar in the early Middle Elamite period (Reiner 1973, esp.
95f.). A  fragmentary Neo-­Elamite inscription, perhaps from Atta-­hamiti-­Insušnak,
mentions sacrifices to be performed ‘for my statue/stela’ (EKI 89:5, zalmu; see Hen-
kelman 2008: 362f.). Also relevant are clay heads, perhaps intended as portraits of
the deceased, found in Elamite graves; the series continues into the Neo-­Elamite
period (Álvarez-­Mon 2005; Carter 2011: 49). One wonders if these representations
somehow connect to the statues of Elamite kings made from silver, gold, bronze
and alabaster, 35 in total, that Assurbanipal seized. Mentioned in the context of the
destruction of Elamite sanctuaries, they may have been votive images or the object of
a dynastic cult (or both). The same is probably true for the images of deceased and
living family members placed by Šilhak-­Inšušinak I in the suhter (Grillot 1983).
Regular offerings for the statue/stela (ṣalmu) of Darius I were performed at Sippar
during the reign of Xerxes (Waerzeggers 2014; cf. Rollinger 2011: 44–46). Though,
presumably, continuing Mesopotamian rather than Elamite precedent, the case is
important in the wider context of Persian funerary customs. To start with, an image
of the deceased, and perhaps also those of the ancestors, indeed seems to have played
a role in funerary rites. Classical sources repeatedly refer to such an image, lain on the
royal catafalque (Hdt. VI.58.3, Ael. VH XII.64 [Alexander], Curt. III.3.16, perhaps
Diod. XVII.115.1; Briant 2002: 522f., 959). Secondly, there is a series of texts in the

820
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Fortification archive on the food offerings for Cambyses, his queen Upanduš/Phai­
dyme and Hystaspes (Henkelman 2003b; s.d. 3 §7; Henkelman and Miri s.d.). The
cultic space for such evolvements consisted of the actual funerary monument (šumar)
and a sanctuary (siyan) with a bašur, ‘sacrificial table’ (all mentioned together in NN
2174 [collated]). That the last term, a loan from Akkadian (paššūru), is potentially
significant as such loanwords, rare in Achaemenid Elamite, usually go back to Middle
or Neo-­Elamite intermediate forms (cf. AE zip < ME-NE sip < Akk. sippu).
As for cultic personnel: the most common designation for priest or officiant in the
Fortification archive is šatin, continuing a term already attested in the early second
millennium (Tavernier 2007c: 283f.; Henkelman 2008: 254f. n.559, 298 n.677). The
majority of individuals bearing it did not have Elamite names, however, nor were
they exclusively assigned to the cult of Elamite gods. Indeed, almost all of the priests
tending to Auramazdā were šatin, not makuš (maguš). This trend is a general one:
although specialisation in certain cults sometimes occurs, cultic personnel regularly
tended to the rites of deities of both Elamite and Indo-­Iranian background. Priests
with Iranian names and designations could sacrifice to deities of Elamite descent and
vice versa. The terms makuš and šatin were not equivalents – šatin was a more pre-
cise term for sacrificial priest, makuš had to be qualified – but their difference cannot
be construed in terms of ethnic or cultural profiles. This observation carries some
weight, as the cultural traditions from which the terms šatin and makuš/maguš stem
were indeed distinct (Henkelman s.d. 3 §2)
It is important to remember that the sacrifices recorded in the Persepolis Fortifi-
cation archive pertain to cults that were wilfully organised by the state as part of the
activities of an institutional household. These cults were for all those gods whom the
Persians regarded to have a sway over their homeland: commodities allocated for
their sacrifices were not philanthropic subsidies for indigenous cults. Along the same
lines, places where deities of Elamite descent were worshipped, were not backward
‘enclaves.’ In fact, closer inspection of such ‘isolated’ places shows that some of them
actually had a royal profile and were well connected to the rest of the institutional
territory (examples: Henkelman 2008: 316–323; 2017a: 276f.).
That only an integrated approach can make sense of the religious phenomena
documented by the Fortification archive is clearly shown by the following case. Since
agriculture and animal husbandry were the prime supports of Persian heartland soci-
ety, and since the archive pertains to an institutional context, it is not surprising that
much of the documented cultic activity is related to fertility, rain, protection of the
crops and stored revenue. Sometimes a series of sacrifices occurs, to be performed by
the same priest in the same district (but not necessarily at the same time): the deities
and rites that occur in such lists may include Adad, Napiriša, Sakurraziš, kušukum,
hapidanuš and tikrakkaš. The last term perhaps refers to a conical granary (*tigra-
ka-­, ‘pointed’), while hapidanuš, another Iranian loan, literally means ‘water place,
reservoir’ (*āpidāniš; Tavernier 2007a: 398 [4.3.220], 437 [4.4.8.3]). Sakurraziš is
the elamograph of Θāigraciš, the name of the third month in the Persian agricultural
calendar. In this context, Napiriša probably occurs as god of the deep waters, while
Adad, who had been at home in Elam since the Sukkalmah period, presumably is
invoked in his role as fertility and rain god (Lipiński 2005; cf. Henkelman 2008:
305–323, 519f.; s.d. 2 §2.5; see also Álvarez-­Mon and Basello 2014). This shows, in a
nutshell, the practical reality of religious life: Iranian and Elamite elements occur side

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by side in an agricultural setting, the basis of human existence (Henkelman 2008:

396–400, 541f.; s.d. 3 §4).
What is true for the everyday level of agricultural life, and the worries that come
with it, also applies to prestigious, royal contexts. The grand sacrificial feast known
as šip was performed at Pasargadae and other places with a clear royal profile. It was
organised and presided over by the general director of the Persepolis economy or his
deputy, viz by the king’s highest representatives in the heartland. As in the case of the
bakadaušiyam celebrations, larger crowds must have benefitted from the generous
allocations in wine, grain and livestock. Displaying generosity on behalf of the king
was, in fact, a prime concern at such a fore: it served an ideological purpose, but also
had a practical side in motivating the workers with a little extra food. Unquestion-
ably, then, the šip feast reflects both the way the Achaemenid monarchy wanted to
see itself and the economic reality of the Persian heartland, with its expanded and
multi-­ethnic kurtaš workforce, in the age of empire.
Yet šip, both as a term and as a religious phenomenon, also connects to an Elamite
past. The first indication for this is the single occurrence of a šip at the place Pumu.
Apparently a more modest, local version, it was performed for the god Zizkurra, whose
compound name contains a reduplication of Zit, ‘Luck, Well-­being’ (*Zizit > *Zizt
> Ziz), a theonym already attested in the Narām-Sîn Treaty. Secondly, the precursor
to Achaemenid-­Elamite šip, Middle and Neo-­Elamite šup, is attested as a term for
(royal) sacrifice in an inscription by Untaš-­Napiriša, the Neo-­Elamite Persepolis Bronze
Plaque and other texts; it also occurs in various compounds and proper names. Finally,
although we do not know its name, the sacrificial feast performed at Kūl-­e Farah was
arguably similar to Achaemenid šip, as appears from the large audience, the host of sac-
rificial animals, the communal banquet and other elements. If not a šip feast, it remains
relevant as a phenomenon that may have informed the Achaemenid celebration (Hen-
kelman 2011c; 2017a: 303–306; s.d. 3 §8; Basello 2012b: 153–156).
Although transformed in the Persian context and adapted to the needs of Achae-
menid society, šip clearly has to be studied with due attention to the Elamite past.
That past manifests itself with great force in the Elamite version of Xerxes’ Daivā
inscription. Clearly written by an iranophone with limited command of Elamite, it
nevertheless describes the veneration of Auramazdā as ‘performing his šip.’ In the
same text, moreover, Xerxes bans the cult of the daivā by laying his ‘kiten upon them,
lest the šip of the daivā be performed!’ This magical use of kiten (kitin), divine power
in the hands of the monarch, strikes one as a direct echo of Elamite usage: Hanni,
for one, laid kitin of the gods upon his relief as a ban protecting it from violation
(Henkelman 2008: 364–371; 2017a: 318f. n.75; compare Garrison s.d. §4.3.5. and
Rollinger 2011: 20–22).
The central message of the Daivā inscription may be Iranian, but it nevertheless
includes an important Elamite sacrificial term and a crucial Elamite religious concept,
both connected with Elamite royal ideology. These are present not because the scribe
wanted to appeal to the tastes of an Elamite audience but because they were internal-
ized in Persian society.

NOTE
1 All abbreviations as per Henkelman 2008.

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 CHAPTER FOURTY

THE ELAMITE ARTISTIC HERITAGE

OF PERSIA

Javier Álvarez-­Mon

INTRODU CTIO N
The study and interpretation of Persian art has traditionally been dominated by
two academic approaches. The first, and earliest, emphasized Greek influence and
developed into an entire school of thought giving license to the elaboration of often
farfetched theories regarding the presence of Greek-­inspired elements of style and
direct Greek authorship in Persian arts. The second viewed Persian art as eclectic in
nature and during the 1970s developed a voice, independent from classicist biases,
that sought to understand it within a Near Eastern context. Common to both of these
approaches was that Elam was seldom, if ever, part of the analytical equation. Yet by
the mid-­6th century BC, just before the emergence of the Persian Empire and follow-
ing a period of Iranian and Elamite acculturation, the inhabitants of southwestern
Iran were embedded in landscapes bearing a legacy of Elamite monumental architec-
tural and sculptural arts. As a counterbalance to previous interpretations, the present
synthesis seeks to place Persian arts within the context of this Elamite heritage.

MONUMENTAL ARCHITE CTU RE :

MUD-­B RICK H E RITAG E
The so-­called apadana or hypostyle hall is considered the main signature of Per-
sian architecture, and its origin continues to attract considerable academic attention
(Gopnik 2005: 199). In the conceptualization and construction of this iconic building,
two distinct, though complementary, architectural traditions converged: one a local
Elamite tradition conversant with the use of mud-­brick and the other, well attested in
the Zagros highlands, with the use of wooden and stone columns.
Appreciation of the crucial role that mud-­brick played in the building of the Persian
apadana and related monumental architecture was initially impeded by an emphasis
on the solid, visible parts of the archaeological record. Earlier archaeologists at Perse-
polis, in fact, struggled to determine whether the Persian apadana had any walls at
all, with some reconstructions showing the palace as a forest of columns. It was only
through the later excavations by Erich F. Schmidt (1934–1939) and careful studies and

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reconstructions by Friedrich Krefter (1971) that the fundamental role and character-
istics of the massive mud-­brick walls enclosing the columned halls and the mud-­brick
fortifications of Persepolis were brought to light. Parallels with Elamite mud-­brick
architecture are, however, still best attested at Susa; with further references of outstand-
ing mastery of mud-­brick construction and associated wood-­columned halls found in
the “Median” heartland at Tepe Nush-­e Jan (Stronach and Roaf 2007).
While we still lack knowledge of most aspects of Elamite palace layouts, excava-
tions in the Ville Royale at Susa (Chantier A, levels XV-XII, ca. 1900–1500 BC) have
furnished examples of Old Elamite period monumental buildings in the form of large
villa-­compounds. The layout of these villas was determined by a planning principle
that adopts as its central feature an open courtyard associated with a long, rectan-
gular, “reception” hall. Near each end of the “reception” hall were positioned two
pairs of pilasters. The exact function of these pilasters has been debated, but in all
probability they held arches supporting a vaulted ceiling. Judging by the hall’s thick
mud-­brick walls, a second floor may also have been present.
With the exception of the apadana, the Persian palace built by Darius at Susa fol-
lows this traditional Elamite architectural layout. It is a mud-­brick-­built monumental
complex organized around three main courtyards, and its ceremonial and private liv-
ing quarters, ordered axially along the “western” courtyard (C1 or court d’honneur),
have retained palpable evidence of the “pilaster-­hall plus courtyard” principle. The
two consecutive massive pilaster-­halls (rooms 752 and 753) linking the courtyard
to the “Throne Hall” (or royal chamber) are particularly noteworthy. Another two
consecutive pilaster-­halls (rooms 358 and 357) connect the central courtyard with the
apadana and in the southern wing a sequence of five (?) living quarter compounds
also incorporate pilaster-­halls and open courtyards (e.g. room 1414) (Ladiray 2010:
208–221; Perrot 2010: 226).
A similar planning principle, albeit on a smaller scale, is attested at Persepolis
in the living quarters thought to have housed the palace guards and artisans. This
partially excavated mud-­brick compound (E Complex) incorporating a “pilaster-­hall
plus courtyard” is situated to the east of the Treasury between a 6 m wide avenue and
the defensive mud-­brick city wall (room 9; Schmidt 1953: 201, Figure 84). Finally,
to the north-­east (east of the “unfinished gate”) are two consecutive perpendicular
monumental pilaster-­halls that may have opened into courtyards.
Since no traces of this “pilaster-­hall plus courtyard” principle have yet been found
in Middle or Neo-­Elamite architecture, numerous scholars have embraced the notion
that Darius’ architects borrowed this monumental building format from the late
Neo-­Babylonian palaces of Nebuchadnezzar II (604–562 BC; the Südburg, courts D
and E; the Hauptburg, and Sommerpalast). Recent reassessment of the archaeological
evidence, however, suggests that the wings incorporating these halls were later addi-
tions made to the Babylonian palaces by the Persian kings (Gasche 2010).
Recalling another Elamite architectural tradition are the royal inscriptions on an
undetermined number of mud-­bricks, glazed bricks and tiles at Darius’ palace at
Susa. These inscriptions are formulaic in nature: most include Darius’ “signature”
(name, titles and father’s name); some are more elaborated and state his piety and the
special support of Ahura Mazda (DSl); a few contain a remarkable statement which
could refer to the aesthetic properties of the palace “may it seem splendid to everyone
(who sees it)” (DSa). The original placement of these inscriptions is unknown, but

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the fact that some were made on glazed bricks and tiles suggests they were probably
exposed on visible sections of the palace walls (Lecoq 1997).
Glazed and unglazed mud-­bricks inscribed with royal building dedications to
divinities are well attested in Elam (Malbran-­Labat 1995; Potts 2010; Canepa 2015:
15). In the holy city of Chogha Zanbil, 662 hand-­inscribed mud-­bricks bearing the
same inscription of Untaš Napiriša (1340–1330 BC) were exhibited along the lower
facade of the ziggurat. At Susa, a unique inscribed brick of Šutruk Nahhunte (1190–
1150 BC) refers to the construction of the hiyan/iyan, a monumental building dedi-
cated to Inšušinak incorporating a columned hall or portico (Vallat 1999). Judging
by this evidence, the inscribed the inscribed mud-­bricks from Darius’ palace appear
to be an adoption of an Elamite “writing on the wall” tradition advertising the piety
of the king, whose agency as roi bâtisseur materialized in a wondrous monumental
building.

SCULPT U RE
The following examination of Persian sculpture concentrates on the winged guardian
from Pasargadae, the façade of the Tomb of Darius I at Naqsh-­e Rostam and the Perse-
polis apadana staircase reliefs. The latter two monuments are seen by most specialists
as having provided the prototypes for the canonized form of official Persian sculpture.
The Bisotun relief is another primary source of information for the “archaizing” ten-
dencies of Persian sculptural arts, but it stands apart iconographically and ideologically,
and on both counts seems to have had little impact on the formation and development
of the official artistic program. This section concludes with a discussion of the complex
manufacturing processes (chaîne opératoire) of Persian low-­relief sculpture and glazed-­
brick panels, both of which reveal distinct continuities with Elam.

Cyrus and the winged guardian from Pasargadae

The so-­called winged genius from Pasargadae (Elamite Batrakataš) today remains the
single most important surviving relief carved during the time of Cyrus the Great (558–
529 BC). Justifiably, this enigmatic 2.10 m tall guardian figure has been widely – and
variously – drawn, described, discussed and interpreted [see Figs. 40.1a, 40.1b]. The
foundational archaeological analysis and description of this relief was published by
David Stronach in his volume Pasargadae (1978). According to Stronach’s interpreta-
tion, the two doorways to the hypostyle building known as the Portal or Gate R had
originally housed four comparable images of the winged guardian facing towards the
interior of the building.
The peculiar composite headdress worn by this figure combines two distinct parts:
an Egyptian-­style triple ‘atef crown mounted on a pair of ram horns and flanked by
two uraei, and a close-­fitting ribbed helmet which supports the ensemble from below.
The upper section finds numerous parallels in Syro-­Phoenician ivory and metal work-
manship, but some of the closest correspondences are found in Assyrian contexts.
Most comparable are the four-­winged genies with Egyptian-­style crown depicted
in stamped decoration on jars produced at Nimrud (Herrmann and Curtis 1998:
117–119). This imagery may therefore have been adopted by Elamite and emerging
Persian elites via Assyrian mediation (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 278).

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Figure 40.1  [a] First known photograph of the winged protective genius from Gate R
at Pasargadae taken by F. Stolze in 1874 (after Andreas and Nöldeke 1882, Figure 132);
[b] Line-­drawing (Courtesy of David Stronach 1978).

A full-­length robe with fringed hem and short sleeves completes the guardian’s
costume. The only visible remains of ornamentation are a single row of rosettes with
eight petals and eight small sepals along the vertical and horizontal garment borders.
Marcel Dieulafoy (1893: 53) and many other scholars since have commented on the
close parallels between this costume and that worn by Elamite king Te’umman in
the Assyrian reliefs from Nineveh depicting the Ulai river battle of ca. 653 BC [see
­Figure 40.2a]. The adoption of the fringed robe here at Pasargadae in ca. 546–530
BC is a clear allusion to an Elamite past [see Figs. 40.1c, 40.1d] (Álvarez-­Mon 2009).
Separated by about a century, these representations of the Elamite robe must have
been somehow linked by networks of artistic transmission. Presently we can posit that
“native Elamite” influences were channeled through the various garments depicted
on the king Atta-­Hamiti-­Inšušinak (ca. 650–520 BC) on his stele from Susa, by Hanni
in the relief of Kul-­e Farah I (650–575 BC), or by the various rulers and members of
the elite depicted in other reliefs from Kul-­e Farah [see, for example, Figs. 40.8 and
40.9]. At the same time, we should consider the possibility of the existence of an elite
“Teispid” garment alluding to the Anshanite royal lineage of Cyrus.

The tomb of Darius I at Naqsh-­e Rostam

By the time king Darius chose the imposing rock cliff of Naqsh-­e Rostam for his
burial, this site had been home to an Elamite open-­air sanctuary for no less than a

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Figure 40.2  [a] Line drawings of the Elamite kings Te-­Ummman (by the author after
Sarre and Herzfeld 1910, Figure 78); and [b] Humban-­Haltaš III (line-­drawings by the
author after Barnett 1976, Pls. 34. 64.); Representations of Persian royal bodyguards
in different media (photographs by the author); [c] glazed tiles from Susa; [d] slab relief
from Persepolis; [e] line-­drawing of king Xerxes after relief in the main hall of the Harem
building at Persepolis; [f] the Persian king under an umbrella at Persepolis (photographs
by the author, line drawing after Tilia 1978: 54 Figure 6; Courtesy of the Oriental Institute
of the University of Chicago).

millennium. By choosing this precipitous rock face ca. 6 km northwest of Persepolis,
Darius seems to have instigated a new convention that directly acknowledged the
significance of this Elamite sanctuary, which incorporated earlier relief carvings of
Elamite royalty and deities, and implied a recognition of “native” cults. At the same
time, his funerary chamber is in stark contrast with traditional Elamite subterranean
vaults. Dated ca. 518 BC, the tomb is a rock-­cut crypt carved into the vertical face
of the cliff [see Figure 40.3]. Inside are a vestibule and three small chambers with
(partial) gabled ceilings. Cut into the floor of each chamber are three rectangular
cists with gabled lids, which Schmidt (1970: 88) believed had originally received
coffins made of metal or wood covered with metal sheet. Since any coffins had to be
smaller than the cists [(l)1.92m; (w)0.98m; (h)1.05m], conceivable parallels may be
offered by the ca. 600–550 Elamite bronze “bathtub”-style coffins deposited in tomb
chambers discovered in 1982 near the ancient settlement of Arjan and in 2007 near
Ram Hormuz. These measure (l)1.32-?m (w)0.60–0.67m; and (h)0.57–0.60m (Wicks
2015, Appendix 1).

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 Figure 40.3  Façade, elevation and section of the Tomb of Darius I at
Naqsh-­e Rostam with modifications by the author (upper line-­drawings after
Wolff published in Seidl 2003: 68, Figure 1; lower line drawing after
Schmidt 1970: 83, Figure 32; Courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the
University of Chicago).
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The exterior of the tomb was carved with a cruciform façade whose central panel
is an almost to-­scale imitation of Darius’ own palace façade at Persepolis (Perrot and
Chipiez 1881: 551, 621, Figure 289; Schmidt 1970: 81; Figure 31; for measurements
see Roaf 1978: 75). Exhibited atop the palace roof (upper panel; see Figure 40.3) is
an elaborate religious scene centering on the figure of Darius, who stands on a three-­
stepped platform facing a fire altar and two divine symbols: a figure in a winged ring
and a solar/lunar-­crescent (Schmidt 1970: 84–85). Darius and the fire altar are held
aloft on a double-­decked, stool-­like platform by two rows of a total of 30 represen-
tatives of the subject peoples of the empire (14 on each level plus two in the corners).
On both sides of the platform, framing the central scene, are three horizontal registers
occupied by individuals oriented towards the center. On the left are seven weapon
bearers. In the top and middle registers the two weapon bearers at the front are
identified by epigraphs as the nobles Gobryas and Aspathines; the remaining five are
unidentified spear-­bearers. The three horizontal registers on the right are occupied
by six weaponless nobles oriented to the left. Using the left hand, each holds his left
garment sleeve up in front of his mouth in what may be understood as a gesture of
mourning.
The overall structure of the façade is relatively simple, combining three large panels.
The lower panel is vacant, the middle replicates the palace of Darius, and the space of
the upper panel described above is defined by a central rectangular panel and three hor-
izontal registers [see Figure 40.3]. Besides the use of horizontal registers, the structure
of the composition was orchestrated via the orientation of the various participants,
whose placement was planned according to social status. Hierarchy is established
through proximity to Darius and the divine symbols, and is further defined between
participants with a clearly articulated use of scale. The imposing 2.7 m tall figure of
Darius dominates the entire composition. These same compositional techniques – the
organization along horizontal registers and the use of location and scale to define rank
amongst participants – are found on the Elamite sculptural reliefs carved at Kul-­e Farah
(henceforth also KF) in the valley of Izeh-­Malamir [Figs. 40.7, 40.8, 40.9] (see Álvarez-­
Mon, Chapter 30 in this volume and forthcoming b).
Also worth considering are the close thematic parallels between Darius’ tomb
façade and the iconography of the monumental Elamite reliefs at Izeh-­Malamir: the
ruler facing the fire-­altar/stand; the king raised on a platform; nobles and weapon
bearers; and the garments of the elites.
Ruler Facing Fire-­altar/stand. Three of the Izeh reliefs center on a large-­scale ruler
oriented towards a fire stand: KFI, KFV and Shekaft-­e Salman I. The KFI fire stand
(13 cm high) has an elongated conical base supporting a rounded stand with convex
edge and the fire on top is represented as a conical shape with clear detail of flames.
Comparable fire stands may be represented in KFV (60  cm high) and in the relief
of Shekaft-­e Salman I (78 cm high). The function of the KFI stand is manifest in the
presence of a priest (identified in the epigraph) who extends both arms atop the fire
altar, suggesting that he is engaged in making a ritual offering, possibly involving the
meat – or the blood? – of the animals just sacrificed.
King Raised on a Platform. The image of Darius on a platform carried by per-
sonifications of the empire’s provinces in atlas pose was also incorporated in the
doorjambs of the Persepolis Council Hall (built late in the reign of Darius I or shortly
after Xerxes I ascended the throne; Schmidt 1953: 107, 116), the doorjambs of the

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Throne Hall (dated to the reigns of Xerxes and Artaxerxes I; Schmidt 1953: 129)
[Figure 40.5], and in the Egyptian statue of Darius found at Susa [Figure 40.6]. The
iconography of the atlas pose has a long history in ancient Near Eastern art and may
have originated in the Hittite realm or in northern Syria, from where it passed into
Assyria (Álvarez-­Mon 2010b). The platform bearers represented in this pose in the
KFIII and VI reliefs, however, offer specific templates for the platform bearers shown
in Persian art [Figs. 40.7 and 40.8]. These Elamite examples depict men raising a
large-­scale individual on a platform above their heads. Their short hair, cap and long
fringed garment suggest that they were a distinct group of individuals engaged in
what can be considered ceremonies enacted in real life (Vanden Berghe 1984: 112–
113). The notion that actual events may be depicted is supported by the monumental
inscription engraved over the surface of the KFI relief (König 1977, no. 75) and is
further strengthened by the existence in Darius’ time of an annual ritual involving the
king (or his representative) and leaders of the agro-­pastoralist Uxians and Elymean
highlanders in which mutual acknowledgement and bonds of loyalty were fomented
through tribute or gift exchanges (Briant 1996: 731; 2002: 728).
Nobles and Weapon Bearers. The roles, weaponry and representation styles of
Gobryas and Aspathines are closely associated with those of the high officers of
the Elamite court depicted in the KFI, IV and VI reliefs as weapon bearers carrying
braced composite bows, quivers and swords [Figure 40.7, register II] (Álvarez-­Mon
2013, 2015, forthcoming a).
Garments of the Elites. The ornamentation of the finely textured Achaemenid Per-
sian pleated court robe instituted at the time of Darius I follows formulas inherited
from the Mesopotamian ‘‘golden sky’’ garment covered in metal appliqués and the
Elamite elite fringed garments mentioned above in connection with Cyrus. In a previ-
ous work, I have suggested that the introduction of a new type of fabric (cotton) may
have influenced the change of garment style (Álvarez-­Mon 2011). At the same time,
the disappearance of short sleeves and fringes and the introduction of an elegantly
fanned, wide-­sleeved robe is an innovation that reflects a conscious articulation of
fashion which prized the language of fabrics and sought to enhance the range of
visual communication by expanding the material surface of the garment. The long,
pleated sleeves became the visual expression of wealth, luxury, power and prestige;
no doubt accompanied by specific socio-­political and economic connotations [see
Figs. 40.2c-­f].
The earliest depictions of this garment appear in the Bisotun relief where, intrigu-
ingly, some of the captive “false kings” who contested Darius’ rule share a similar
robe. Yet with the subsequent consolidation of power, the question of who were the
legitimate members of the dominant class and had the distinction of wearing the
court dress appears to have become a critical element in the visual and ideological
program of the Empire. At Naqsh-­e Rostam, where epigraphs specify the names of the
various representatives of the empires, only the first and third individuals, the Persian
and the Elamite (after the Mede), wear the long-­sleeved Persian court garment. This
visual conferring of privilege and honor reaffirmed the importance of the Elamites at
the core of the Empire and was replicated again in the depictions of platform bearers
in the eastern doorway of the Council Hall, the Throne Hall and in the exceptional
above-­mentioned sculpture of Darius [Figs. 40.5, 40.6]. The statue, manufactured in
Egypt, shows Darius in ceremonial court dress standing on a rectangular platform

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framed along the long sides by 12 individuals kneeling with upraised hands, each per-
sonifying a province of the empire (Razmjou 2002: 83; with refs.). Two representa-
tives amongst this group have again been singled out for depiction in the long-­sleeved
Persian court robe: the Persian, positioned first, and the Elamite, positioned third.

The Persepolis apadana staircase reliefs

The apadana appears to have been constructed for the primary purpose of accom-
modating a vast gathering of people under a single roof. The apadana at Persepolis,
planned and partially built during the time of Darius and completed by Xerxes I, was
an architectural tour de force defined by a colossal 60.5  m2 square hypostyle hall
dissected by six rows of six stone columns. Access to the hall was provided via two
identical sets of grand stairways, one located along the northern side of the building
and one on the east side. The facades and parapets of these staircases were entirely
covered with low reliefs representing a royal audience (Schmidt 1953: 82–90) [see
Figure 40.4].
On the better-­preserved eastern staircases, the iconography of the reliefs is struc-
tured within four main panels: the Central Panel depicting the king and prince under
a canopy; the Right Panel depicting 92 royal guards and 64 nobles standing behind
the ruler, oriented left; the Left Panel depicting 23 representative peoples of the impe-
rial provinces facing the ruler, oriented right; and the Inner Panels depicting hundreds
more royal guards (spearmen, shield-­men and archers). Including the Great King and
the crown prince, no less than 811 individuals are shown in total (Roaf 1983: 29).
An abbreviated version of the king giving audience was sculpted on the doorjambs
on the northern side of the Throne Hall (or Hundred Column Hall) [Figure 40.5].
Each jamb is divided into six registers, the uppermost depicting the enthroned king
under a baldachin (the crown prince is not present). Fifty royal guards are distributed
in groups of ten along the five registers below. Subdivided into two groups of five,
the guards stand facing each other on either side of a central axial line. The same
individuals are depicted from a left and right perspective on the opposing doorjambs
(Schmidt 1953: 134–137; Pls. 96–101).
Compositionally speaking, these reliefs follow the formula seen on the tomb of
Darius, where horizontal registers dominate the structure, and scale, location and
orientation are used to define rank amongst participants. Again, these are standard
compositional features found in the Elamite monumental sculptural reliefs carved at
Kul-­e Farah [see Figs. 40.7, 40.8, 40.9] (Álvarez-­Mon forthcoming b).
Further close parallels with Elamite monumental sculpture can be found in the
incorporation of iconography showing the ruler giving audience and receiving gifts
(i.e. a tribute scene). The royal audience can be interpreted on three main levels:
sacred, political/economic and celebratory/festive. These aspects are clearly related,
but I will discuss them separately to bring their correspondences with Elamite art and
ideology into sharper focus.
Sacred Dimension. The Persepolis audience scene is usually considered an adapta-
tion of the Assyrian tribute scene, exhibited, for instance, on palace walls at Nineveh
and Til Barsip (Root 1979: 237). In the view of Margaret C. Root (1979: 284), this
adaptation involved a re-­articulation of core imperial ideological messages, with a
rejection of Assyrian realism – the portrayal of military subjugation and humiliation

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 Figure 40.4  Composite line-­drawings of the apadana staircase reliefs, North wing (after Schmidt 1953: 87,
Figure 34; Krefter 1971, insert 4; and Roaf 1983: 50–51; 62–63, 65; Figs. 53, 61, 62, 63; with modifications by the
author; Courtesy of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago).
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Figure 40.5  Throne Hall. Audience scene and guards of the eastern doorway in the
northern wall, west jamb. [a] Oriental Institute Photograph P. 31. Courtesy of the
Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago; [b] photograph by the author.

of tributaries – in favor of a purely Achaemenid version defined as “a scene of pious

reverence”. This devoutness characterizes the new spirit of Persian art in which,
according to Mark B. Garrison (2009: 52), elements of “upliftedness” or “ascension”
permeate through the depiction of the divine and supernatural.
Recent examinations have highlighted that the core artistic and ideological prop-
erties of the Elamite monumental rock-­cut sanctuary of Kurangun were co-­opted and
integrated into the Persepolis audience scene (Henkelman 2008: 226). Four corre-
spondences in particular can be underlined: (1) the periodic pilgrimage of the commu-
nity to the sanctuary is matched by periodic journeying to encounter the Great King;
(2) the depiction of worshipers with direct access to Elamite divinities is matched by
representatives of the empire in audience with the Great King; (3) the sanctuary of
Kurangun is a cultic space informed by the natural environment and pulsing with
divine vitality, while the audience scene from Persepolis is embedded in a new “aura
of religiosity” (Álvarez-­Mon 2014); (4) in both Elamite and Persian depictions flights
of staircases became the material and virtual playground of interaction.
Political and Economic Dimension: The Spectacle of Royal Audience and Gift
Giving. The Persepolis apadana columned hall may have served two practical pur-
poses: to provide space under a single roof for a royal audience of matchless scope,
and to offer “a suitable backdrop to the elevated, enthroned monarch when he
reviewed ceremonies or parades on the plain below” (Stronach 2011). The hall was
conceived as a monumental space for the holding of large-­scale public ceremonial

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Figure 40.6  Statue of Darius, National Museum of Iran, Tehran

(photographs by the author).

event/s with as many as 10,000 attendees (Herzfeld 1941: 227). Root (1979: 231)
has argued that the reliefs may not depict a real ceremony, but had rather served as a
“metaphorical artistic synthesis of ideas of empire” and “represent a unified pictorial

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Figure 40.7  Relief of Kul-­e Farah IV, panel A (photograph and line-­drawing
by the author).

vision of the moment before the commencement of the presentation of gifts to the
king by delegates from the subject nations” (Root 1979: 240). Peter Calmeyer (1980:
56) similarly found it difficult to take the reliefs at face value, expressing doubt that
such an event had taken place inside the palace. He also queried the socio-­economic
background of “gift bearing”, suggesting that these scenes of tributaries are not to be
understood as “historical” vignettes of a yearly event, but as “an expression of what
kingship meant to the Achaemenids, of their relationship with the peoples of their
empire – or at least, of what they thought that relationship was and what they wanted
to propagate” (Calmeyer 1980: 57).
The wealthy ca. 600 BC Arjan tomb chamber has brought significant additions to
our knowledge of the royal audience scene in Elam (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a). The burial
assemblage included a large bronze bowl engraved with a central rosette encircled
by five registers. Filling these registers are a series of visual narratives depicting a
universe of miniature forms including 112 humans, 66 animals of 33 species, diverse
trees and various artefacts. In registers V and IV a hunting party, mock battle and
associated events unfold in the mountains and on the city fringe. In registers III and
II a tribute procession and feasting with music instead take place inside the city. This
iconography advertised the various personas of the king who, blessed by providence,
performed the correct rituals, displayed his heroic deeds as hunter and presided at
the center of high-level social exchanges involving hospitality, gift giving and feasting.
Of particular significance is a tribute scene in which the Elamite king, accom-
panied by the crown prince, is shown seated on a throne with his feet resting on
a stool. Facing him is an individual (the “Grand Marshall”) bowing forward in a

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Figure 40.8  Relief of Kul-­e Farah III, southern face (photograph and
line-­drawing by the author).

reverent gesture, followed by a procession of tribute bearers bringing various animals

(Álvarez-­Mon 2010a: 134, Pl. 64). Positioned at this important chronological junc-
ture, the scene plays a significant role in bridging the divide between its Assyrian and
Persian counterparts and speaks strongly for Elamite participation in the formation
of the classic Persian audience and tribute scene.

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Figure 40.9  Relief of Kul-­e Farah VI (photograph courtesy of A. Bakhtyar;

line-­drawing by the author).

Celebratory/Festive: The Spectacle of “Communal” Feasting. Grand scale com-

munal feasting is notably absent from the monumental iconographic program of the
Great King. Yet Elamite (Persepolis tablets) and Classical (Heraclides and Polyaenus)
sources, as well as biblical texts (i.e. Esther and Daniel), envisaged that Persian cer-
emonies incorporating gift-­giving and sacrificial banqueting/feasting had been vital
to the establishment and negotiation of social hierarchy and the definition of royal
authority (Sancisi-­Weerdenburg 1995: 297–299; Briant 2002: 246–247; Henkelman
2010).
Recent examinations of the remains of columned halls dating between the 9th and
7th centuries BC indicate that “the fundamental notion of the columned hall . . . (was)
widespread in western Iran” (Gopnik 2005: 199). The examples from Hasanlu,
Godin Tepe II, Tepe Nush-­e Jan, Rumeilah (Qatar), Muweilah (Emirate of Sharjah)
and possibly Kerkenesh Dag (Anatolia) underline the existence of a socio-­cultural
pattern that was not exclusively associated with an ethnic or political group such as
the Indo-­Europeans or Medes but was instead part of an emergent and widespread
architectural expression of social power. This power was founded upon the strong
cohesion of local elites and reinforced by gatherings in these columned halls for com-
munal feasting on an impressive scale (Gopnik and Rothman 2011: 398–342).
Raising the possibility that the Persian apadana had also been the locus of feasting
is the representation of food bearers climbing the southern staircases of the palace of
Darius (also with a version in glazed bricks represented at Susa; Daucé 2010: 341).
If there had been feasting at “the king’s table”, this presumably took place after the
royal audience and its depiction was not prioritized in the sculptural program (it
could, however, have been represented in a different media, for example, painting, but

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no evidence exists in support of such a possibility). The sacrifice of animals for ritual
consumption is supported by Shahrokh Razmjou’s (2010: 243) argument for the
existence of a sacrificial room in the north-­west corner of the palace and by a small
corpus of sealings found in the Persepolis Fortification archive depicting ceremo-
nial sacrifice of animals (PFUTS0111, PFUTS0091, PFUTS0147, PFS0075; Garrison
2012). These images show striking iconographic similarities with sacrifice scenes at
KFI, II and V, where communal feasting and animal sacrifice were central subjects of
monumental display.

The manufacture of sculpture in relief:

stone and brick, the chaîne opératoire
The year 1912 saw the discovery of the Old Persian text of the so-­called “founda-
tion charter”, a trilingual inscription (DSf) subsequently known in several exem-
plars commemorating the erection of the palace of Darius at Susa (Basello 2013).
DSf lists a diversity of materials and work teams from different provinces that
participated in the construction of the palace (Vallat 2010: 304–311). Varying
interpretations of the text have resulted in nuanced views on the extent to which
these workers should be considered artists (generating artistic blueprints other-
wise absent from Persian tradition), artisans (skilled labor) or general labor force.
Following the influential 1946 publications of Gisela Ritchter and Henri Frank-
fort, DSf was seen by many commentators to corroborate the opinion that Sardian
(Lydian) and Ionian stoneworkers had directly contributed to the articulation of
Persian artistic identity. It is, however, now apparent that the massive enterprise
required for the building of Susa, Persepolis and other Persian palaces needs to
be placed in the context of Near Eastern traditions of royal building (and related
royal inscriptions) together with the employment of a multi-­“ethnic” labor force
for state-­supported projects, as attested in texts from Persepolis and Babylon (Uchi-
tel 1991; Henkelman and Kleber 2007).
From a practical viewpoint, one can elucidate further analogies with Elam through
an examination of the operational sequence (chaîne opératoire) in the manufacture
of the two main decorative techniques adopted to complement the architecture of
Persian palaces: the molded, glazed, siliceous brick friezes at Susa and the sculpted
low-­relief stone panels at Persepolis [see Figs. 40.2c, d].
At the palace of Darius at Susa, the decorative program was characterized by large
compositional friezes made of molded mud-­brick and monochrome or polychrome
siliceous bricks covered with glaze. It has been conservatively estimated that the ca.
13,000 glazed bricks recovered from the palace represent about 10% of the total
(Daucé 2010: 328), but a much higher estimate by Jean Perrot (2010: 234) suggests
that the decoration of the four main palace courtyards alone would have incorpo-
rated as many as a quarter of a million bricks. Fragments of molded brick friezes were
also recovered at Persepolis, but here they were used only on a minor scale. Recent
scientific analyses have substantiated the claim, articulated already in 1893 by Dieu-
lafoy, that the construction of the palace at Susa was a colossal endeavor requiring
sophisticated technology, specialized labor force and substantial expenditure. Fur-
thermore, they confirm that this industry was rooted in a pre-­existing Elamite tradi-
tion (Caubet and Martinez-­Sève 2005: 111–112; Maras 2010: 210).

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The mass production of glazed bricks comprised a specific body of techniques. Based
on the brick panel reliefs depicting royal guards at Susa, nine main manufacturing
stages in the chaîne opératoire can be discerned [Figure 40.2c] (Azarpay 1994; Sauvage
1998: 33; Moorey 1999: 319–322; Maras 2010: 211–216; Daucé 2010: 327–342):

(1) Master Template. A master template was produced in relief according to exact
measurements for the depiction of human proportion.
(2) Master Prototypes. A negative (hollow) prototype was created after the master
template and segmented into standard brick-­size dimensions to produce master
prototypes in baked clay.
(3) Casting. A frame in the form of a truncated pyramid was placed atop the master
prototype and filled with a mixture of sand and lime or chalk.
(4) Drying. The resulting siliceous molded brick in relief was sundried. It was prob-
ably after this stage that bricks were marked with black glaze (fitters’ marks) to
identify their exact placement in the reconstruction of the panel.
(5) First Firing. The frame was removed and the bricks fired.
(6) Drawing. The bricks were assembled together following the fitters’ marks.
A black glaze was used to draw the outline of decorative motifs such as bracte-
ates, embroideries or hems.
(7) Second Firing. The brick was fired for a second time to vitrify the raised outline.
(8) “Painting”. The compartmentalized spaces created by the raised black outline
(cernures) were filled with colored liquid glazes. The chromatic spectrum incor-
porated blue, green, yellow, white and brown glaze of multiple shades.
(9) Third Firing. The bricks were fired for a third time to vitrify the glazes.

The complex manufacture of these bricks embodies the mastery achieved in the “arts
du feu” where the marriage of modelling, drawing and painting materialized in a
vitrified state. All stages required the firing and re-­firing of the bricks at different
temperatures reaching between 900 and 1000 degrees C (Álvarez-­Mon 2010a; Daucé
2010: 330–331). Due to its different chemical composition, the black outline melted
at a higher temperature than the colored glazes, preventing any mixing of the lines
and colors during vitrification; a process comparable with metalwork cloisonné,
where raised contours delineate compartmentalized spaces for color. Together with
the use of siliceous brick, this trademark Elamite technique distinguishes the glazed
brick found in Elam from its Assyrian and Babylonian counterparts.
In the manufacture of the apadana stone-­carved reliefs at Persepolis, six main
stages can be observed:

(1) Quarrying the Stone. The quarry for the fine-­grained black stone used to manu-
facture the apadana reliefs is located at Madjabad, 20 km (in a straight line) from
Persepolis (Gondet 2015: 321).
(2) Design. The desired design was plotted onto the surface of the stone following
an exact canon of proportions and conventions well attested in the glazed brick
panels produced in workshops at Susa (Davis-­Kimball 1989).
(3) Carving the Stone. Teams of stone carvers were assigned to remove different sec-
tions of the stone according to depth of carving required and the types of tools
used (Roaf 1983).

845
 — J a v i e r Á l v a r e z - ­M o n —

(4) Etching. The surface of the relief was etched with drawings of ornamental motifs
such as bracteates, embroideries or hems. These drawings were meant to serve as
guiding lines for the placement of color (Sweek and Simpson 2009: 86).
(5) Polychrome Painting. The reliefs were painted. For a comparative illustration, see
the royal guards depicted at Persepolis and on the glazed brick panels from Susa
[Figs. 40.1e, f] (Nagel 2010).
(6) Surface Additions. Details of metallic bracteates, jewelry and precious stone
incrustations were added to the surface of the relief (Curtis 2005: 134,
Figure 52).

This recognition of the chaîne opératoire in the manufacture of Persian stone relief
sculpture and glazed brick panels is in contrast to standard perceptions of authorship
that seek a unified piece of work created by a single artist  – and therefore expect
to see harmonization of anatomy with garment folds, bracteates, hems and color
(Boardman 2000: 109–111, 117). Instead, a closer look at the manufacture of Persian
stone sculpture exposes a body of techniques revealing different levels of excellence
in art through different stages of material treatment. It also suggests that the sculp-
tural program of the palaces of Persepolis was conceived following exact canons of
proportions and conventions observed in the glazed bricks of Susa. Such correspon-
dences indicate that both used similar templates, perhaps in the form of “pattern
books”, baked clay, or perforated stencils to generate replicas in glazed bricks and
stone. Through both avenues of artistic expression, teams of specialists carried out
the various craft stages, which involved drawing, carving, modelling, etching, firing
and, finally, the addition of surface color to provide a unifying aesthetic principle.
The end result was a remarkable collaborative effort bringing together knowledge of
artistic canons of proportions, diversity of materials, experienced craft making and
the surmounting of complex technical challenges.
Construction of the traditional “Elamite-­style” residential palace and apadana at
Susa is conventionally dated to around 520 BC, while the massive undertaking of
erecting Persepolis may have begun around 507/500 BC (Perrot 2010: 468). There-
fore, it is reasonable to suggest that significant elements of the sculptural artistic
program of the Persian palaces may have been masterminded in the workshops of
Susa. The implications of the multiple levels of relationships in the manufacturing
processes invite the recognition of a complex new model for the genesis and charac-
teristics of Persian monumental sculptural arts which takes into account the native
glazed-­brick industry at Susa and the compositional techniques and themes exhibited
in the Elamite rock reliefs from Izeh-­Malamir.

METALWO RK
Metalwork is another form of art in which Elamite and Persian artistic parallels can
be witnessed. The evidence provided by the metalwork assemblage from the Arjan
tomb is complemented by the sumptuous array of grave goods unearthed in the
Jubaji/Ram Hormuz tomb, including precious metal jewelry and a substantial volume
of bronze metalwork (Shishegar 2015). The luxurious materials and an inscription on
a ceremonial “ring” naming the late Neo-­Elamite king Shutur-­Nahhunte (ca. 575 BC)
advocate an elite, if not royal, status for the tomb’s two occupants.

846
 — T h e E l a m i t e a r t i s t i c h e r i t a g e o f Pe r s i a —

The Arjan and Ram Hormuz metalwork assemblages have introduced a new chap-
ter in our understanding of the genesis of Persian art at around 600–550 BC. As the
last manifestation of Elamite tradition, they exhibit key features recognizable from
Persian art, including the above-­mentioned tribute scene engraved on the Arjan bowl.
Also significant are the couchant bulls incorporated into a candelabrum stand from
Arjan, which perpetuate an Elamite tradition and provide a prototype for the Persian
apadana bull capitals; the stylized lion heads on the Arjan beaker, candelabrum and
ring, which share analogies with Persian lion heads in both monumental and porta-
ble art; and the bracelets with animal head terminals from Ram Hormuz find com-
parisons with those found in the “Persian princess” bronze coffin burial from Susa.
A particularly prominent aspect of iconographic continuity can be found in the lion-­
headed griffin, which features on the Arjan “ring” and later plays a privileged role
in monumental architecture, sculpture, glyptic and precious arts of the Achaemenid
Empire. Far from being the manifestation of abrupt change or of a disintegrating
culture, this artistic production suggests the revitalization of Elamite traditions in the
late 7th and 6th century BC and a historical nexus favoring the continuity of local
artistic production.

CONCLU S IO N
Looking at Persian arts through an Elamite lens forces a re-­examination of traditional
art historical paradigms and recognition of the extent to which the marginalization of
Elam has stripped Persian art of its intrinsic meaning. While other cultural influences
and channels of transmission cannot be denied, the present summary has shown that
Elamite artistic heritage provided basic manufacturing, artistic and ideological tenets
for the genesis of Persian art and the representation of Persian royal power.
There is nothing extraordinary in the existence of artistic continuity within the heart-
land of Elam and Persia; what is unique, and in many ways remarkable, is the degree to
which the rhetoric of power and self-­representation of a nascent empire incorporated
the Elamite past to articulate a new idealized vision of civilization. In this sense, Persian
“exceptionalism” hinged on a pragmatic capacity to draw on the inherited wisdom of
local traditions to generate a novel, idealized, universal message of unity, stability and
harmony centering on and defined by the authority of the Great King. In short, Persian
art was in its origins a predominantly autochthonous phenomenon.

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 CHAPTER FOURTY-ONE

ELAM IN ACHAEMENID STUDIES

Adriano V. Rossi

S ince discussions on the topic of Elam in Western scholarship from the Renaissance
to the late 19th century are the subject of an earlier chapter in this volume (see
Potts, Chapter 1), I would like to start my own chapter by referring to the scientific
climate in which the main reference works at the disposal of anyone interested in
Achaemenid studies were conceived at the turn of the 20th century.
The opus magnum of Iranian philology, the Grundriss der iranischen Philolo-
gie, contains a historical synthesis in which Justi confined himself to analyzing the
“hervorragende Stellung von Elam” (Justi 1896–1904: 417) in connection with the
royal titles of Cyrus. No mention at all of Elam was made in the linguistic essay on
Old Persian by Weissbach, barring the role that the Elamite versions of the Ach-
aemenid inscriptions played in the reconstruction of the correct text (Weissbach
1896–1904: 72–74); to the same scholar is due the first modern edition of the Ach-
aemenid Royal trilingual inscriptions (Weissbach 1911), which, among many other
merits, ­generalized – after many oscillations in the late 19th century – the glottonym
‘Elamite’.1
Since the late years of the 19th century, historians of the ancient Near East have
found another important teaching aid in the Geschichte des Altertums by Eduard
Meyer (1937). The narrative of the Iranization of the plateau was the established one,
with an overwhelming role given to the Medians, but many subtle remarks were scat-
tered here and there (sometimes in footnotes: see e.g. Meyer 1937: 182, n. 2: “Warum
Kyros von Nabonid vor der Besiegung der Meder König von Anšan, im J. 547 König
von Parsu genannt wird, wissen wir nicht”).
Ernst Herzfeld, pupil of Eduard Meyer and his tireless continuer in the cultural
vision known in 1930s-­Germany as Kulturkreis (this notion crossed those of ethnic-
ity and race which had wide circulation in the reconstruction of the ancient world),
was very active among scholars rejecting racist archaeological theories at the turn of
the 1920s. His essays Geschichte und Vorgeschichte (Herzfeld 1933) and Das Prob-
lem der hettitischen Kunst (Herzfeld 1934), published respectively in 1933 and 1934,
are centred around the refusal of the idea that scholars can identify archaeological
data with ancient races and/or ethnic groups.

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 — A d r i a n o V. R o s s i —

According to Herzfeld, migration was the exception, and the rule that should
instead be applied to explain relevant cultural changes was internal development.
Only if two consecutive strata in the same archaeological site display entirely differ-
ent material, and only if a relevant chronological interval can be excluded, and only
if the same type of changes can be observed in an integrally preserved area, could we
submit that a new cultural complex had arrived at that site.
Today these notions are taken for granted, but in archaeological research of the
early 1930s, one had to fight hard to support them.
Since his early essays, Herzfeld appeared much more sceptical than Meyer about
the supposed Indo-­European speakers in the Mitanni area and their historical sig-
nificance; in fact, he denied the importance that prevailing opinions in Germany
tried to ascribe to possible “Indo-­European groups” as agents of the alleged cultural
changes. One should recall here that immediately after the installation in office of
the Third Reich government, the Nazi institution for the promotion of Germanic
Heritage (Ahnenerbe) created an Abteilung für den Vorderen Orient (endowed with
funding for archaeological research in the Near East) with the task of investigating
any form of so-­called indo-­germanisch influence (often defined in short as “Aryan
influence”) on any major change in any ancient Near Eastern culture. To give an idea
of the cultural climate prevailing in the field of ancient Near Eastern studies, some
years before the Nazi takeover, the Assyriologist Carl Bezold had described Cyrus’
entry into Babylonia in 539 BC: “die indogermanische Rasse hatte das Erbe tausend-
jähriger Weltreiche angetreten, deren glänzendste Herrscher das Semitentum geboren
hatte” [The Indo-­European race became heir of the millenary domination of a world
in which excellent sovereigns had been generated by the Semites] (Bezold 1910: 42).
On the interpretation of the term arya-­ in the few available Old Iranian sources,
Meyer’s and Herzfeld’s positions progressively diverged. In 1912, when Meyer pub-
lished Der Papyrusfund von Elephantine  (Meyer 1912), he dedicated four pages to
Darius’ account of his own deeds, the royal res gestae.
What interested Meyer was the circumstance that among Elephantine papyri,
a partial Aramaic version of the Bisotun inscription of Darius the Great (DB) had
emerged, and this demonstrated that the royal account had been ideated for circula-
tion among the peripheries of the Achaemenid administration.
Why this interest from Meyer? Because in those years the first modern study of the
Bisotun inscriptions had been published (King and Thompson 1907), and through
this book all scholars had read the Old Persian translation of a short royal announce-
ment of which only the Elamite version was previously known (DB/Elam. L). DB/
Elam. L is an Elamite inscription, originally independent, which was translated in Old
Persian and collocated at the end of the fourth Old Persian column; we do not have
any Babylonian version for this short inscription.
Where is the disagreement on this short passage on which thousands of pages have
been written (cf. most recently Rossi 2000 and Rossi in press)? Doubtful interpreta-
tions are numerous, but particularly contested is OP aryā and its Elam. correspondent
hariya.ma. In both languages it is clear that a location or a modality are at stake; but
in relation to what? When only the Elamite version was known (prior to 1906–1907),
Elam. hariya.ma was interpreted as one of three localizations on different epigraphic
supports: “on stone, and on brick, and on hide”: therefore Elam. harriya.ma (also
read murriya.ma) was interpreted as “on stone”. But when the Old Persian version

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became known (DB/OP §70), and OP aryā appeared in correspondence with Elam.
harriya.ma, this aryā was interpreted as an occurrence of the base arya-­ as known
in Darius’ and Xerxes’ titling: there arya aryaciça was translated as “arya-­ (Aryan),
arya-­as for his ciça-­” (probably “descent”). Darius and Xerxes, so wrote Meyer, pride
themselves even in their titulature on being of Aryan descent.
If the lexical basis appearing in DB/OP §70 was the same as OP arya-­ ‘Aryan’
in the royal titling, it remained to be seen why in that passage an ‘ethnic’ identity
(or similar) was mentioned. To explain this aporia, a theory was born according to
which Darius was referring to the language (or also, to the script) used for the whole
Bisotun inscription: Darius would affirm “I have done (= written) this monument in
Arya-­, and subsequently it was copied on different supports, and circulated among
the provinces”.
When Meyer wrote the pages on Bisotun in Der Papyrusfund von Elephantine,
Herzfeld, who was preparing his doctoral dissertation on Pasargade under Meyer’s
guidance, argued forcefully against other scholars, wanting to see in aryā in DB/OP
§70 a reference to the language/script of the Achaemenids, and Meyer shared his
pupil’s standing.
However, Meyer annotated in his Geschichte (Meyer 1937: 28): “nach Darius’
Sprachgebrauch müssten wir die Sprache der altpersischen Keilinschriften arisch
nennen [according to Darius’ linguistic usage, we should call Aryan the language
of Old Persian inscriptions]”. Even more explicit is Meyer’s annotation on arya-­ at
the beginning of his chapter Die Stämme der Arier (volume I, ii tome): “Der Name
Arier . . . findet sich . . . gleichmässig bei den Indern und den Iraniern als allgemeiner
Volksname; daher nennt Darius seine Sprache ‘arisch’ ” [“The name Aryans is found
both among the Indians and Iranians as a general ethnic designation; because of this
Darius calls his language ‘Aryan’ ”]. Meyer had therefore adopted, at least on this
issue, the same projection of ethnic notions in antiquity which he strongly opposed
in Gustav Kossinna’s theories.2
Coming back to the issue in Paikuli, Herzfeld (1924) proposed interpreting arya-­in
DB with reference to Aramaic script as used to render Persian utterances, and placing
the origin of the ideographical process at the basis of Pahlavi as early as Darius’ time.
Herzfeld submits that arya-­ was – paradoxically – Darius’ way to emphasize how a
script ‘of Semitic design’, Aramaic, could be adapted to an “Indo-­European language”
such as Old Persian. Schaeder (1930) would be severely critical of this proposal, but
Herzfeld’s idea derived from his profound persuasion that ethnicity and usage of any
language need not necessarily be in connection, and that paradoxically ‘Aryan’ could
be a fitting way to denominate a ‘Semitic’ script.
Today this reasoning might make people smile, but even in the 1970s Igor M.
Diakonoff, while discussing the origin of OP script, still felt obliged to warn: “One
should have learned by the second half of the twentieth century AD to keep physical
anthropology apart from linguistics and social history” (Diakonoff 1970: 111, n. 35).
I think that what precedes can help one to better understand the gnoseological net-
work in which one should place Achaemenid studies at the turn of World War II. One
of the leading authorities in the field of art history of the ancient Near East, Henry
Frankfort (1897–1954), wrote at that time: “There are no indications that the Per-
sians possessed a monumental art of their own, and there is no reason to suppose that
the accident of discovery has withheld from us monuments of the pre-­Achaemenian

853
 — A d r i a n o V. R o s s i —

period. We should hardly expect nomadic tribes to extend their interest beyond
applied arts” (Frankfort 1946: 9).
A major contribution during those years came from A.T. Olmstead, who in the
Preface to his History of the Persian Empire (Olmstead 1948: vii) could not fail to
note how backward Achaemenid historiography was in comparison to the rest of
ancient Near Eastern studies. Though he was the first historian of the Achaemenid
period to eyewitness the recovery of the Persepolis tablets (e.g. Olmstead 1948: 178),
his remarks rarely exceeded an emphasis on the multilingualism of Achaemenid
bureaucracy, in which it was now clear that Elamite had played a substantial role
(“Even more interesting is the practice witnessed by the letter. The order is given by
Darius orally. It is repeated orally by Pharnaces. Then it is translated orally by the
interpreter, and only after this it is written down by one of the official Elamite scribes.
Due authentication, however, is given by the affixing of a seal” (Olmstead 1948: 177;
the latest discussion of this process is by Tavernier 2008).
As for the rest, Olmstead’s stand was not so far from Richard Frye’s one, as writ-
ten in a synthesis which remained for years a major reference point for Achaemenid
historiography: “As the Iranian peoples settled down, their ideas of government and
society were quite naturally influenced by the settled peoples, especially in western
Iran where the Urartians in the north, the Manneans in Media, and the Elamites in
the south, had established kingdoms with their own traditions and forms of state and
society, centuries before the rise to power of the Medes and then the Persians” (Frye
1972: 84). The conclusion was anyhow always the same: “The ‘people’ or ‘folk’ was
the Parsa, or Persian people, who occupied the land or province (dahyu) of Fars just
as the Median people occupied Media. Finally the race, or the overall designation of
all Iranian speaking peoples, was Aryan, a term which they shared with their Indian
brethren to distinguish the Indoeuropean invaders from the native population” (Frye
1972: 84).
Around the same time, Walther Hinz published a small book describing the last
phases of Elamite history after 1000 BC (the editors of Cambridge Ancient History
had entrusted the history of Elam up to 1200 BC to Hinz and René Labat) containing
the following statement: “When Elam was incorporated into the Achaemenid Empire
in 538, the Persians inherited its art and civilization. For some time before this, they
had profited from an Elamite education; they had been countrymen and neighbours
on their eastern border since about 695. Michael Rostovtzeff, in his History of the
Ancient World, even went so far as to claim [my emphasis  – AVR] that Cyrus the
Great himself founded his culture and his ability to introduce political developments
on the Elamite archetype” (Hinz 1973: 178). This means that one of the scholars who
better knew – because of his Elamitistic competences – the Perso-­Elamite symbiosis
emerging more and more clearly from the Persepolis tablets, considered as paradoxi-
cal a visionary statement formulated by Rostovtzeff half a century before (for Hinz’s
adherence to the narrative of the migration/conquest by groups of ‘Aryan’ Iranian-­
speaking people imposing their rule over Elamite aborigines, see also – around the
same time – Hinz 1976, I: 42–52, 56).
In Iranology stricto sensu (i.e. including Iranologists with an Indo-­European,3
and not Assyriological, formation) a further lost opportunity to circulate the rap-
idly increasing findings emerging from the Elamite documentation to the wider
scientific community was the publication (with great delay) of the volumes of the

854
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Handbuch der Orientalistik containing paragraphs on Old Persian written by Karl

Hoffmann (1958) and Ilya Gershevitch (1968). In Hoffmann’s essay, reference to
Elamite appeared only to explain doublets of “phono-­syllabic” transcriptions origi-
nating from divergent Iranian traditions (Hoffmann 1958: 5); in Gershevitch’s essay,
DB/OP §70 was interpreted as referring to the circulation of the Royal proclamation
“in Akkadian and Elamite [my emphasis – AVR] on clay tablets [. . .] and in Aramaic
on parchment” (Gershevitch 1968: 6), and a preliminary formulation of the alloglot-
tography theory4 was offered (“the decline of original Old Persian inscriptional pro-
duction after Xerxes [. . .] best attributed to loss on the part of professional scribes, of
familiarity with the spelling conventions of the Old Persian script, and the loss, to the
adoption of the Aramaic (and I would now add the Elamite [my emphasis – AVR])
language and script as usual means of written communication”, Gershevitch 1968:
30, Addendum).
Although, as reported by Cameron (1973: 51), the eminent British scholar H.T.
Wade-­Gery had already guessed on the basis of the location of the reliefs and the
captions that the Elamite was the first of the three versions of the great inscription of
Darius on mount Bisotun to be engraved, this had only recently become an accepted
fact. The Old Persian version, written in a cuneiform script not used for any other
language, and the Babylonian version, were added only later. This circumstance is
shown by the alterations to the original plan of the carving of the rock-­face necessi-
tated by the addition of the Old Persian version.
The Iranian philologist who from the 1950s to the 1960s focused on the relation-
ship between Elamite and Old Persian more than any other, was Ilya Gershevitch,
who never interrupted his dialogue with the greatest Elamitologists of his time, viz.
George G. Cameron (1905–1979, cf. Windfuhr 1990) and Richard T. Hallock (1906–
1980, cf. Jones and Stolper 2003). His three studies on Onomastica persepolitana
represent a masterpiece of reconstructive ingeniousness, and remain a cornerstone
in the most difficult field of the interpretation of OP words adapted to the rules of
a script conceived for a phonemic system still resisting full interpretation: and their
greatness excels all the more because in the years between 1966 and 1975, in the
same onomastic collection (placed at the disposal of international scholarship by
the generosity of R.T. Hallock), parallel interpretations by great scholars such as E.
Benveniste, M. Mayrhofer and W. Hinz appeared.
The 1960s and early 1970s were the years in which Gershevitch formulated his
vision of the relationship between Elamite (language and writing) and Old Persian
(language and writing) in the practice of the Achaemenid chancellery. The background
of this complex formulation brings us back to a double series of events: one was his
stay in Chicago in the early 1960s, when he started a collaboration with Hallock
(which would continue for years through correspondence), linked to a public lecture
delivered in December 1965 in the University of Chicago; the other was the discovery
(in winter 1963–1964), by the German archaeological mission led by H. Luschey and
L. Trümpelmann, that the Elamite version of Darius’ Bisotun inscriptions were the
first to be carved in the stone (Luschey 1968).
The first scholar to publish his new visions deriving from the reanalysis of Bisotun was
Walther Hinz (1968); Hinz’s first conclusions seem to have been put forward in Tehran
in 1966, in a paper read to the International Conference of Iranian studies attended also
by Gershevitch.5 Hinz’s explanation assumes that DB/OP §70 had not originally been

855
 — A d r i a n o V. R o s s i —

planned because the Persian script did not exist at that time; but the Elamite version of
§70, added after the creation of the script and after the addition of §70 to the fourth
column of the Old Persian text, could not mean at lines DB/Elam. L:2–4:

v.u h.tuppi.me dae ikki hutta hariya.ma appa šašša inni šari
“ist dies meine [Italics by Hinz  – AVR] Schrift, die ich anfertigen ließ, und
zwar war sie auf arisch (=iranisch),” because the Elamite script was not Darius’
own script!

Gershevitch’s peculiar ideas about Elamite-­ Persian “bilingualism”, formulated

over a period of seven years beginning in 1962, were first put forward in the lecture
delivered at the University of Chicago (December  1965), and then in two of the
six Ratanbai Katrak Lectures delivered at Oxford in spring 1968; the theory was
subsequently made public through a short Preface placed before the pre-­print of
Hallock’s contribution to the Cambridge History of Iran,6 circulated in Shiraz on
the occasion of the Cyrus International Conference of 1971 (“sans en demander une
discussion publique”, as J. Duchesne-­Guillemin remarks in his preliminary note to
Lecoq’s essay on Old Persian cuneiform writing7), and finally in a definitive form in
the long essay which is a written version of the paper read to the Philological Society
on 11 March 1978 (marking among other things the entering of the neologism “allo-
glottography” into Iranology and the general theory of writing).
According to Gershevitch’s reconstruction, the Old Persian dictation of the Persian
King would have been written down in Elamite and only later reproduced in Old
Persian.
Gershevitch’s ideas about the functioning of the Achaemenid chancellery entailed
a series of consequences, the first of which related to the main historic question from
which he had started, that is, the date of the introduction of Old Persian writing.
Notwithstanding the fact that Gershevitch was one of the scholars more interested
in the interactions between Elamite-­speaking and Irano-­speaking peoples in Achae-
menid Iran, his interests never went beyond a technical linguistic approach.
There is perhaps a connection between this attitude and his long editorial work
on another lost opportunity in the 1970s–1980s, viz. the volume The Median and
Achaemenian Periods of the Cambridge History of Iran. Possibly in addition to the
editor’s personal view is the well-­known non-­committal approach typical of all the
Cambridge Histories; in any case, the masterly The Evidence of the Persepolis Tablets
(Hallock 1985) does not refer to the problems of the cultural milieu in which the
Elamite tablets were edited, and John Hansman’s account in Anshan in the Elamite
and Achaemenian Periods (Hansman 1985: 33: “Although the Elamites seem to have
regained a measure of local autonomy in succeeding years [. . .] later Assyrian and
Achaemenian advances finally put an end to independent Elam”) does not add any-
thing to the archaeologist’s early essay in which he had identified Anshan with Pārsa
(Hansman 1972). Here and there in the volume a certain change in attitude as far
as Perso-­Elamite interrelations are concerned is perceived (“Scholars have recently
tended to stress the assumed connection between Cyrus’ Anšan and Elam, and there-
fore look to Susa as a principal source”, Cook 1985: 230); even Diakonoff, who in his
previous essays had been more explicit on the subject,8 expressed such general state-
ments as “The influence of the Elamite culture on the Old Persian was considerable”

856
 — Elam in Achaemenid studies —

(Diakonoff 1985: 24), and came back to the usual terms of the “final destruction of
the kingdom of Elam” (Diakonoff 1985: 23).
Even if the overall picture of the Cambridge History of Iran derives from views
prevailing in the 1970s, it is in the mid-­1980s that we have to position the decisive
change of approach towards what Henkelman calls “the old diffusionist theory that
made the Achaemenids direct heirs of full-­formed Indo-­Iranian culture” (Henkelman
2012: 933). A series of articles by Pierre de Miroschedji (1982; 1985; 1990) lay the
foundations for the denial of the formation of a Persian identity as a linear devel-
opment from an alleged Indo-­Iranian phase to the Achaemenid ideology. Though
centred on a somewhat inaccurate notion that would become a trademark of French
Elamitology and archaeology (viz. “fin de l’Élam”, which Amiet9 would rightly sug-
gest should be reformulated in terms of cultural Elamo-­Persian fusion), Miroschedji’s
essays mark the emergence of notions that would endure, such as “l’acculturation
réciproque des deux groupes de popolation” (Miroschedji 1985: 302), “profondeur
de la symbiose culturelle élamito-­perse [. . .] les deux ethnies avaient déjà longuement
coesisté quand l’empire perse a été fondé” (Miroschedji 1985: 303); and the link
between political disintegration and cultural fusion would appear in a new light:
“cette séparation du Fars marque la désintégration définitive du “ grand Elam ”.
L’union du Khuzistan et du Fars ne sera jamais reconstituée [. . .] C’est pendant les
siècles obscures de l’époque néo-­élamite que ce clivage s’est opera: le long isolement
du Fars et sa conversion au pastoralisme nomade ont favorisé l’immigration d’éle-
ments ethniques iraniens et des reconstructions tribales qui ont abouti à l’ethno-
genèse des Perses” (Miroschedji 1990: 84).
Even if not all suggestions arising from that decade of innovation have been
accepted and generalized (cf. e.g. Amiet 1992: 92: “En réalité, le haut-­pays débor-
dant d’ailleurs largement le seul Fars, n’était donc pas vide; il devait être peuplé de
nomades dont au moins une élite restait fidèle à la tradition culturelle elamite. La
question qu’il emporte désormais de poser est donc de savoir comment l’essor perse
a pu se produire, une fois exclue comme très improbable une migration subite et
massive [my emphasis – AVR]”), we have to acknowledge that it is thanks to French
Iranology, French Elamitology and French ancient Near Eastern archaeology that this
interpretative model appears in most available syntheses (e.g. Henkelman 2012: 95:
“At the very minimum, this suggests a period of prolonged exposure to the Elamite
and other resident cultures, if not entirely local development indeed, best described as
the Persian ethnogenesis”; cf. already Henkelman 2003). Also Pierre Briant’s remarks
on the origins of the Achaemenid state – more or less around the same time – contain
in nuce the main lines10 of the descriptions of the “acculturation processes at work
between the two groups”, taken again by the French historian in his opus maius (Bri-
ant 2002: 20–21, bibliography in pp. 878–879), and this book marks the diffusion
of originally archaeological views in the wider circles of the historians of the Achae-
menid state.
It does not matter if the original formulation by Miroschedji and Amiet to denote
this process (ethnogenèse des Perses/Persian ethnogenesis) represents ultimately a
partial, inaccurate revival11 of a notion deriving from Russian historiography, widely
used in the political debate on the question of nationalities in the 1930s (commented
on already in the first edition of the Bolshaya Sovetskaya Entsiklopediya, 1926–
1947): what matters is that we are by now, once and for all, distanced far from

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statements such as those which could appear only a hundred years ago in the arti-
cle ‘Elam’ in the Encyclopedia Britannica: “they [i.e. the Elamites – AVR] gradually
became completely Aryanized, and their agglutinative dialects were supplanted by the
Aryan Persian from the south-­east” (Sayce 1910: 141).

NOTE S
1 See Basello 2004: 10, n. 98 regarding the penetrating but low-­profiled remarks by Weiss-
bach on Elamite onomastics, and passim for further information on Elamite studies at the
turn of the 20th century.
2 Gustav Kossinna (1858–1931) made the decisive step towards a systematic approach to
follow the distribution of ethnic groups via material traits. According to his theories, the
distribution of distinct assemblages, which he called Kulturgebiet would correspond with
the settlement areas of people known from written sources. On Kosinna cf. Hauser 2005:
533ff.
3 From this point of view one should consider as highly singular Dresden’s statement (1968:
171) that “A. Meillet was the first to publish a grammar of the Old Persian written within
the framework of the Indo-­European language group”: it is absolutely clear that the first
60–70 years of Old Persian philology totally coincide with the Indo-­European formative phases
of British, German and French research centres.
4 In an Addendum whose redaction could oscillate between the “slight revision” (July 1959)
of the original manuscript (submitted in July 1955) and the publication, in delay, of the
volume (1968). On Gershevitch and alloglottography, see Rossi 2006.
5 Note that Gershevitch (1979: 115: “in December 1965 [. . .] at a time when I knew as yet
nothing of the German discoveries”) explicitly emphasises the reciprocal independency of
his own and Hinz’s argumentations.
6 Hallock 1985. The separatum is generally noted as Evidence by Gershevitch himself.
7 Considering that Duchesne-­Guillemin declares to have explicitly requested Pierre Lecoq
“de reprendre, à la lumière des travaux récents, toute la question” (J. Duchesne-­Guillemin
in Lecoq 1974: 25), one wonders why in no passage of Lecoq’s paper the new vision of the
relationship between Elamite versions and Old Persian ones as outlined by Gershevitch is
discussed.
8 Cf. e.g. Diakonoff 1970: 110: “the Elamite usage [to add –aš at the end of loanwords from
Old Persian – AVR] originated at a very early stage of Elamite-­Iranian contacts [. . .]”;
Diakanoff 1970: 110, n. 35: “In fact no one knows how early these contacts began [. . .]
it has as yet not been established how early the Elamite colonists of Tepe Sialk and other
aborigines, speaking presumably Elamite or a kindred language, had their first contacts
with speakers of Iranian”.
9 Amiet 1992: 91: “la “ glyptique de la fin de l’ Élam ” qu’il serait préférable de définir
comme “ élamo-­perse ””.
10 Briant 1984: 93: “L’Etat perse s’établit dans une région qui avait constitué antérieurement
le coeur de la puissance élamite, bien avant Suse qui, d’une certaine manière, ne fut qu’une
position de repli. C’est assez dire que le royaume perse, à ses débuts, a revétu les dépouilles
élamites ou, si l’on veut, qu’il a réduit les souverains néo-­élamites à faire de la Susiane un
nouvel Elam”.
11 Inaccurate because “neutral” if not further qualified: “protsess složeniya ètničeskoy

obšnosti na baze različnyx ètničeskix komponentov” is the definition given in the relevant
article (signed: N.N. Čeboksarov) in the last available edition of the Encyclopedia (whose
publication ceased after 1992).

858
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861
 INDEX

Words with more than 40 occurrences are not indexed. The letter š is indexed as sh. Diacritic and other
small variations are not given as separate entries.

Abalgamash 186, 281 Ali Kosh 363, 365 – 7, 371 417, 495, 536 – 7, 576, 617,
Aboutaam 89 – 91 Al-Iṣṭakhrī, 421 651 – 3, 661, 752
Abraham 28 – 32 Alman 312, 315 Apishal 189, 485
Abu Chizan 372 Altaic 16 Aplaya 168 – 9; see also
Abu Dabi 182, 184 Alumidatum 213 Appalaya
Abu Fandowa 458, 486 Al Untash-Napirisha 237, 241, Appalaya 257; see also Aplaya
Abu Salabikh 554 483, 523, 613 Arabia 355
Abu Sheeja 589 – 90 Amara 149 Arabic (language) 412, 421
Açina 810 Amardian 417 Arachosia 810, 813
Acropole Archive/Tablets 166, Amarna 491 Aram 28 – 9, 33, 333
169, 171 – 2, 420, 488 – 9, Amar-Suen 195 – 6, 208, 217, Aramaean(s) 169, 257, 324 – 6,
494 – 7, 651 – 3, 656, 661, 282, 467, 747 328, 330, 806
664, 707, 806 – 7, 811 – 12, Amenemhat II 639 Aramaic 13, 169, 412, 460,
815, 819 Ammatena 265 474, 483, 491, 812, 814 – 15,
Adab 180 – 1, 183 Ammisaduqa 204, 209, 223 852 – 3, 855
Adad 150, 152 – 4, 156, 189, Amon 30, 34 Arashtua 165
308, 312, 429, 526, 729, Amorite 147, 150, 153, 205, Aratta 451
803 – 4, 817, 821 207, 222 – 3 Arawa 177, 180, 182 – 3, 185,
Ahiqar 13 Amraphel 12 188 – 9, 194, 216, 281, 286
Ahuramazda 429, 460, 474 – 5, Amurru 153 – 5, 314 Arina- 167 – 9
830; see also Auramazdā Anarak 107, 122, 551 Arioch 12
Aiapir 620, 732; see also Ayapir Anatolia 86, 204, 550, Arisman 122, 124 – 6, 627
Ain Kosh 258 572, 843 Arjan 137, 262, 265, 267 – 8,
Aina- 167 Andab Jadid 123 349, 420, 562 – 3, 689,
Akkad 35, 133, 205, 281 – 2, Andada 661, 812 746 – 7, 769, 771, 795, 797,
291 – 2, 294, 309 – 15, 335, Anigi 147 805 – 6, 833, 841, 846; see
443, 458, 466 – 7, 554, 609 Anih-Shushim 223 also Arrajan
Akkadianization 154, 705 Annunaki 208 Armavir Blur 420
Akkirara 169 Annunītu 154 Armenia 86, 420
Akshak 180 Antiochus IV 18 Arpachiyah 370
Akshin-kilik 168 Anu 155 Arpachshad 28
Aksimarti 172 Anzamannakka 818 Arrajan 746; see also Arjan
alabaster 72, 107, 206, 251, Anzanite 17, 659, 661 – 2, 701, Arrapha 309, 311, 315, 324
288, 296, 472, 477, 553, 812 Arrian 819
596, 609, 797 Anzaze 421 Artystone 491, 808, 810
Ala River 265, 747 Anzukalli 311 Arukku 165
Alborz 121 Apadana 42, 53, 56, 67, 70, 74, Aryan 2, 17, 475, 804 – 5, 808,
Alexander the Great 819 – 20 166, 210, 258, 260 – 2, 372, 810, 852 – 4

863
 — Index —

Ashbazana 493 Barahshum 281; see also copper 93, 121, 134, 283 – 5,
Ashishi 484 Parahshum 365, 561
Ashteroth 31 Barbarranamba 147 cremation 268, 557, 749
Ashur 28, 496, 572, 776; see Bardiya 808, 811 Ctesias 812
also Assur Bashime 150, 216 curse 133, 264, 306, 464, 468,
Ashurnasirpal 164 – 5, 323 Bau 150, 152 – 3 471 – 4, 705 – 6, 732 – 4
Aspathines 835 – 6 Behbahan 211, 562, 797 Cutha 325, 332, 335
Aspavika 168 Belilit 308 Cyaxares 806
Assur 631, 686, 776; see also Beltiya 558 Cyrus Cylinder 17 – 18, 170,
Ashur Bendebal 368 806 – 8
Astarabad 44 Beshar Valley 266, 746
Astyages 806 Bible 3, 11, 13, 28 – 31, 33, Dadusha 209
Asuhur 180 35 – 6, 38, 177, 416 Dagu 185
Atalia 689 Bilalama 155, 208, 215 Dahshur 46
Ataliya 686 Birjand 121 Damascus 324, 812
Atekitin 701 Bishapur 56 Damiqtum 155
Athamaita 256, 684, 686 Bismaya 783 – 4 Damkina 155
Athibu 233, 237, 244 Bisotun 16, 164, 416, 418, 420, Darab 287
Atossa 808 431, 464, 474, 684, 698, Dayāta- 168
Atta-hamiti-Inshushinak 255 – 6, 707, 807, 810, 813, 820, Deh Dumen 127
258, 420, 618 – 19, 684, 831, 836, 852 – 3, 855 Deh Hossein 121 – 3, 125
686 – 7, 809, 820, 832 Bit-Bunakki 251 Deh Luran 52, 101, 177, 179,
Attahushu 128, 633, 712 Bit-Hulummu 169 194, 211, 257, 304, 363 – 4,
Attametu 255 Bit-Kunzubati 313 370, 532, 534, 537,
Attar-kittah 233 – 5, 306 – 7, 471 bitumen 87 – 8, 93, 311, 370, 542 – 4
Attaru-uktuh 743 486, 561, 573, 617, 650, Dehno 233, 236, 470, 472
Attasapir 172 686, 748, 752, 769 Deioces 16
Attaten 168 Boirahmed 266 Deir el-Medina 789
Auramazdā 816 – 19, 821 – 2; see Bormi 217, 221, 237, 265, 308, Dezful 70, 236; see also Dizful
also Ahuramazda 419, 747 Dez River 101, 241, 258, 753,
Avestan 14 Borujen 106 755
Awan 4, 128, 149, 177, 179, British Museum 16, 42, 291, Dilbat 209
181, 184 – 6, 188 – 9, 191 – 2, 349, 563, 683, 685, 699, Dilmun 455 – 6, 485
203, 205 – 6, 213 – 14, 281 – 2, 702, 785, 794, 797 Dimtu 154, 313, 315
286, 408, 411, 418, Bubilu 330, 353 diorite 127, 186, 188, 709
428, 455, 466 – 9, 591, Budashir 182 Diyala 150, 152, 155, 189 – 90,
607, 628 – 9, 633, Bunban 185, 281 192, 203, 208, 221 – 3, 257,
675, 677 Burnaburiash 235, 305, 682, 304, 307, 309, 312, 315 – 16,
Ayapir 255 – 6, 264, 683, 687, 748 329, 485, 588 – 9, 591,
729 – 30, 735, 819; see also Bus Mordeh 363 – 5 628 – 9, 631, 638, 711
Aiapir Bushehr 43, 53, 101 – 2, 108, Dizful 44, 419; see also Dezful
Azahar 148 212, 236 – 7, 257, 745 Dogonbadan 108
Donjon 210, 398 – 9, 636, 752
Baba Jan 690 Cambyses 36, 165, 170, 431, Dravidian 416
Bab-duri 325 434, 691, 809 – 11, 821 Drehem 282
Babin, C. 42, 52 Canaan, Canaanite, Canaaneans Dur-Agade 485
Bactria 196, 291, 475, 483, 766, 12, 28 – 32 Dur-Athara 325
768, 810 Cappadocian(s) 636, 638 Dur-Papsukkal 251
Bactrian(s) 126, 157, 283 – 5, Caspian Sea 103, 216, 457, 561
289, 291, 456 – 7, 638, Catal Huyuk 367 Eanna 364, 372, 375
640 – 1 Ceos 792 Ebarti 194 – 5, 203, 208,
Bagabāzu- 167 Chalcolithic 124, 624, 714 213 – 15, 217 – 18, 220 – 1,
Baghdad 16 Chaldea 46, 71, 333, 336 – 7 305, 633, 677, 730, 768;
Bahahutep 730 Chedorlaomer 12, 31 – 2 see also Yabrat
Bahuri 257 Chigha Sabz 211, 273, 581 Eber 28
Bakabadada 816 Chipiez, C. 41 Ebla 278
Balahute 256 Choaspes 13 Edom 30, 34
Baluchistan 184, 277, 284 – 5, Choga Ghavaneh 206 – 8 Egypt 5, 16, 28, 30, 32 – 4,
287 – 8, 714 Choga Pahn 206, 210, 236, 704 36 – 7, 42, 46 – 8, 65, 328,
Bampur 184, 639, 714 Chogha Bonut 363, 365 – 7, 371 450, 474 – 5, 569 – 71,
Banesh 125, 211, 287, 450, 576, Chogha Mish 92, 179, 210, 368, 574, 576, 796,
627 370 – 3, 375 – 6, 494, 507, 810, 836
Bani Surmah 629 517, 637, 753, 772, 781 – 2 Elammat 307

864
 — Index —

Elburz 103 Gudea 18, 122, 191 – 2, 282, Indapipi 172, 254, 329, 333
Elephantine 852 – 3 311, 397, 555, 585, 591, Indasu 148
Elḫulḫul Cylinders 807 595, 598, 776 Intata 776; see also Indada
Ellipi 325, 330, 806 Gudea Cylinder A 786 Isqan 155
Ellipian 325, 331, 334 Gungunum 208, 216, 218, Itpun 169
Elvend 464 221 – 2 Itti-Marduk-balāṭu 316
Elymais, Elymaean 12 – 15, 18, Gunilaha 185, 281 Ittish 169
38, 421, 836 Gupin 281
Enheduanna 293 Gutium 147 – 8, 151, 281 – 2, 287 Jaffarabad 368, 370
Enki 150, 152, 605, 737, 818 Jerusalem 28 – 30, 32 – 4, 36, 38,
Enmebaragesi 286, 628, 702 Habuba Kabira 373, 376 255
Epartid, Epartides 203, 205 – 6, Hakurtish 820 Jubaji 137 – 8, 262, 265, 267 – 8,
210 Halil 180, 184, 278, 284 – 8, 689 – 90, 747, 769, 775, 805,
Epirmupi 631, 633 596, 598, 605, 632, 745 846
Erbil 193 Halisrati 244
Ereshkigal 154 Halman 312 Kaftari 128, 207, 211 – 12, 287,
Eridu 212 Haltete 426 450, 456, 533 – 5, 542 – 3,
Eriya 316 Halule 170, 252, 327, 332, 806, 546, 633, 638
Esfahan 179, 195 808 Kakaritah 182
Eshnunna 155, 203, 207 – 9, Hamadan 44, 53, 86, 191 Kakku 154
215, 222 – 3, 307 – 9, 484, Hamitira 169 Kamna- 167
611, 700, 711 Hammurabi 47, 51, 65, 71 – 2, Kamulla 316
Eulæus 13 204, 209, 219, 223, 236, Kandahar 421, 494
Euphrates 294, 304, 315 305, 307, 483, 613, 711 Karta 213
Euripides 792 Hanni 255, 264 – 5, 267, 420, Kassite 4, 16, 51, 147, 149, 151,
464, 560, 620, 687, 689, 153, 155 – 6, 204, 233 – 5,
Fahliyān 611, 732, 814, 816 731 – 3, 735, 819, 832 243, 304 – 11, 313 – 16, 486,
faience 570, 572, 580, 680 Harappa 632, 639 558, 574, 576, 580, 613,
Failaka 182, 574, 784 – 5 Harappan 456, 710, 714 619, 636, 641, 644, 650,
Farukhabad 372, 375 Herzfeld, E. 85, 417, 490, 851 656, 682, 745, 747 – 8, 750,
Fasa 287 Hidali/u 156 – 7, 169, 253, 256, 775, 805
Firuzabad 108 329, 796, 806, 814 Kerman 6, 107, 120, 179 – 80,
Hilimmu 324 184, 193, 216, 278, 288,
Gabae 816 Hilmand 632, 639, 714 412, 466, 468, 597 – 8, 605,
Gambulu 325, 328 – 9 Hindaru 325 607, 741, 743
Gananati 315 Hishmitik 526, 729 – 30 Kermanshah 315
Gandhāra 805 Hittite 422, 424, 459, 836 Kidada 661
Ganǧnāmeh 820 Huban-Shuturuk 255 Kidinu 232 – 3, 237, 470
Ganj Dareh Tepe 367, 370 Huban-tahra 251 Kidinuid 203, 205, 223, 232,
Gaubaruva 804 Hudimiri 165 304 – 9, 419, 466, 470, 731
Gaumāta 435, 441 Huh 737 Kikkit 168
Gelal River 750 Huhme 737 Kilahshupir 729, 731
Ghabrestan 124 Huhnur(i) 109, 147, 149, 177, Kimash 122, 147, 149, 153,
Gideon 31 191, 193 – 6, 213 – 14, 216, 177, 191, 194, 213, 282,
Gilgamesh 155 221, 244, 256, 265, 282, 467 – 8
Ginadu 238, 244, 678, 681 – 2, 308, 467, 734, 748, 806 Kindattu 196, 208, 213 – 14,
686, 751 Hulibar 196 216, 590, 633
Girkinam 147 Hulili 169 Kinneru-damb 714
Girnamme 208, 213 – 14 Huluppu 155 Kirmashir 729
Girra 150, 152 Hurti 149, 177, 191, 194 Kitan 314
Girsu 182, 194, 217, 373, 595, Hussaini 714 Kittum 155
699 Hutradadda 169 Konar Sandal 180, 193, 277,
Gisat 255 – 6 Hutran 185, 729, 819 280 – 1, 283, 286 – 7, 397 – 9,
Gitika- 167 Hutran-tepti 255, 619 402, 408, 412, 455, 597 – 8,
Gizili 147 628 – 32, 639 – 40, 642, 714,
Godin Tepe 120, 123, 179, 211, Idad(d)u 206, 214 – 16, 221, 741, 745
280, 454, 627, 843 469, 555, 633 Kossaeans, Kossaioi 17, 156
Gomorra 12, 31 Idamaraz 711 Kuddakaka 166, 168
Gonur 126, 290, 397, 455 – 6, Idattu 208, 213 – 14 Kudu-zulush 209, 219, 222 – 3
631, 638 – 40, 677 Idattunapir 213, 215 – 16 Kudur-Lagamar 12
Gordion 690 Idattutemti 213, 215 Kudur-Mabuk 12, 209, 222
Gorgan 639, 714 Indada 255, 264 – 5, 563, 622; Kudurru 252
Gu’abba 181 – 2, 185 – 6, 194 see also Intata Kuganakā 810

865
 — Index —

Kundupum 185 Manneans 854 Nabu-ahhe-iddin 327

Kunush-kadru 155 Manusha- 167 – 9 Nabu-bel-shumati 254, 330 – 3
Kurangun 170, 212, 266 – 7, Manzat 470, 472, 729 – 30 Nabu-damiq 342 – 3, 346
473, 557, 611 – 12, 614, 633, Mar-biti-ahhe-iddina 316 Nabu-kudurri-usur I 236
677 – 8, 683 – 4, 732, 839 Marduk 130, 155, 169, 257, Nabu-naṣir 257
Kurdistan 44, 624 305, 476, 613, 656, 819 Nabu-shuma-ishkun 251
Kurdushum 806 Marduk-apla-idinna 325 – 7, Nabu-shumu-eresh 328
Kurigalzu 235, 305, 307, 512, 332, 334, 336 Nabu-ushallim 328
747 Marduk-balāssu-iqbi 250, 323, Nabu-zer-kitti-lishir 327, 332
Kurlush 265, 562, 747, 771 331, 333 Nagutu 313
Kur River 101 – 2, 108 – 9, 171, Marduk-kabit-ahhēshu 316 Nahhiti 185
211, 280 Marduk-shumu-ibni 328 Nahor 28
Kuzzalu 155 Margiana 126, 149, 277, 287, Nal 714
291, 456 – 7, 641 – 2, 766 Namazga 283 – 5, 632
Lagamal 267, 729, 731, 736 Mari 180, 193, 195, 203 – 4, Namri 315, 333
Lagash 18, 177, 180 – 3, 191 – 2, 209, 221 – 3, 607, 609, 636, Napkilapal 168
194, 212, 216 – 17, 282, 286, 639, 711 Napratep 526, 730
397, 555, 595, 624, 628, Marlik 84, 87, 561, 644 Naptaka- 167
776, 786 Martiya 256, 810 Napupu 168
Lahiru 324 Marun River 101, 265, 746 Naqadeh 46
Lahmat 155 Marzak 152 Naqsh-e Rostam 170, 266 – 7,
Lallari 256 Mashti 265, 267, 434 – 5, 729, 464, 473, 557, 621, 633,
Lalu-in-tash 168 733, 735 684 – 5, 733, 769, 818, 820,
Lalu-sunkik 169 Matannan 810 – 11 831 – 2, 834, 836
Lamassu 155 Matka 311, 315 Narundi 185, 187, 468, 586,
Ledrain, E. 43, 72 Matku 310 588, 594, 596, 607,
Liyan 16, 53, 156, 206, 212, Mazdara- 169 609, 675
221, 236 – 7, 245, 257, 307, Melchizedek 32 Nasr ed-Din Shah 42, 46, 70
419, 471, 730, 741, 745 Meluhha 149, 184 – 6, 188, 281, Naʾid-Marduk 327 – 8
Loreh River 750 286, 293, 485 Nebuchadnezzar I 305, 315 – 16,
Lugal-anda 182 – 3, 213, 628 Mesanepada 628 473, 580; see also
Lugal-anemunDU 181 Meskalamdug 291, 628 Nabu-kudurri-usur I
Lullubum 147, 194, 281, 287 Metropolitan Museum of Art Nebuchadnezzar II 30, 35, 806,
Lulu 155 80 – 1, 85, 87, 89, 291, 674, 830
Lycian(s) 157, 424 677, 682 Nemetti-Marduk 315
Lydia 475 Mianab 210 Nemrut Dag 367
Lydian(s) 28, 157, 844 Midas City 690 Neor Lake 103 – 4
Midianite 31 Nergal 150, 152, 154, 406, 737
Macrides, C. 16 Minoan Linear 387 Nergal-ushezib 326
Madaktu 254 – 5, 327, 329 – 30, Mirabad 103 Nibe 325
332 – 3, 335 – 6, 353, 731, Miri Qalat 627, 632, 639, 714 Nimrud 251, 268, 563, 686,
789, 794 – 6 Mishime 177, 180, 182, 286 689, 747, 831
Madga 311 Mishimruh 245, 471 Ninazu 155
Madjabad 845 Mitanni 574, 852 Ninegalla 152 – 4
Magan 127, 281, 450, 456, 485, Mitilaksar 169 Nineveh Letters 172, 257, 417,
554 Mittashu 282 420, 489
Maharlou Lake 107 Moab 30, 34 Ningal 153 – 5
Mahtoutabad 627, 645 Mohenjo-daro 639 Ningirsu 150, 180, 183
Makkan 182, 184 – 8 Mozzafer ed-Din Shah 44 – 5, 70 Ninhursag 51, 128, 133, 150,
Makran 632, 639, 741 Mugra(t) 155 189, 555, 558, 586, 735,
Malamir 13, 17, 52, 155, 237, Mundigak 284 – 5, 639, 714 737, 768
244, 267, 617, 619 – 20, 769, Murabishtu 325, 331 Ninkarak 150, 189
835 Mushezib-Marduk 327, 334 Nirah 353
Malcolm, J. 43 Mussian 52 Nisaba 150
Mamasani 102, 108, 212, 217, Nubians 157
266, 535 – 7, 539 – 41, 544, Nabbazabba 817 Nunu 153 – 4
611, 806 Nabium 154 Nurabad 212, 266, 535,
Mammītum 153 Nabonidus 476, 807 537, 539, 544, 627,
Mamu 154 Nabonidus Chronicle 18, 691, 746, 806
Manetho 16 807 Nusku 526, 731, 749
Mangisu 253 Nabopolassar 255, 698 Nuzi 147, 149, 309 – 11, 313,
Manhili 147 Nabu 355, 656, 819 315, 496, 573, 644

866
 — Index —

Oruru 255, 733, 735 – 6 Sabum 109, 177, 184 – 5, 194, Shilhite 732
Oxus 276 – 8, 283 – 5, 287 – 9, 291 – 2, 213 Shimut 151 – 2, 154, 185, 441,
556, 632, 638 – 9, 641, 714 Sakidēva- 168 526, 729 – 30, 737, 817, 819
Ozbaki 179, 385 – 6, 627 Sakurrazish 821 Shiraz 107, 746, 810, 856
Salem 32 Shortugai 638 – 9
Paikuli 853 Samaria 28, 30, 34, 324 Shubat-Enlil 223
Par-Uli 441, 473, 558, 617, 683, Samati 156, 171, 420, 489, 805, Shubula 155
699 808 Shudda 155
Parahshum 177, 180, 184; Samos 562 Shugalians 154
see also Barahshum Samsuiluna 743, 753 Shuhnir 150
Parishan 103 – 4 Sapum 147, 281 Shullaggi 806, 811
Parnaka 434 – 5, 491, 497, 653, Sarlagab 281 Shulpae 150
655, 657 Sarpol Zohāb 312 Shumaliya 313
Parsumash 165, 251, 806 – 7 Sarvak 563 Shurpu 730, 819
Parthian 36, 50, 238, 460, 581, Sasanian, Sassanid 101, 108, Shuruppak 485
741, 750 238, 265, 421, 460, 684, Shushtar 13, 102, 152, 184, 419
Pataweh 611 747, 769 Shutruru 264, 420, 687, 733,
Patirapa- 166, 168 Scythian, Scythians 32, 417, 475 735 – 6, 819
Pelala 443 Scythic 15 – 17 Shutrurura 264
Peleg 28 Sealand 146, 155, 252, 254, Shutur-Nahhunte 253, 255,
Perrot, G. 41 304, 327 – 8, 330, 698 264 – 5, 420, 563, 622, 846
Peytul 206, 212, 257 Seh Gabi 624 Sidari 468
Phaidyme 821 Sem 11, 15, 28 – 9, 312 Siddim 31
Phrygian (language) 491 Sennaar 12 Sidon 352
Phrygian(s) 157, 690 Septuagint 36, 38 Sigar 153 – 4
Pilasqu 309 Serug 28 Sigrish 147 – 8
Pilazkapulku 309 Sesonch 16 Silirqatru 729
Pillatu 324 Shaduppum 611 Simimi 169
Pinikir 185, 256, 267, 526, 558, Shah Tepe 714 – 15 Simonides 792
580, 614, 729, 764, 771 – 2, Shahi Tump 714, 719 Singamshibu 325
819 Shahr-e Sokhta 179, 278, 280, Sippar 209, 236, 252, 326 – 7,
Pininkir 712 283 – 5, 385 – 6, 451, 627, 494, 820
Pirhi-Amurru 155 632, 638 – 9, 714, 745, 775 Sirara 182
Pittit 421 Shala 526 Sistan 179, 284 – 5, 466, 639
Pizlume 165 Shali’amu 185 Sit Shamshi 51, 135, 243, 523,
Polyaenus 843 Shalla 232 – 3 560
Pontus 12 Shamash 189, 776 Sitinrupum 147
Pottier, E. 53, 73 – 4 Shamshi-Adad V 323, 331, 334, Siwe-palar-hupak 204, 206, 209,
Puhutu 313 711 219, 222, 305, 416, 418,
Puktena 435 Shamshi-Addu I 209, 219, 222 469, 483, 497
Pulvar 101 Sharafabad 372 Sogdiana 475; see also Sugda
Puqudu 324 – 5 Shargapi 186 Sogdians 157
Puzrish-Dagan 149, 152 Sharjah 843 Spakṛta- 166
Sharkalisharri 281 Subartu 153
Qabr Sheykheyn 570 Shashrum 193 – 4, 196; see also Sugda 168; see also Sogdiana
Qadamgāh 820 Shemshara Sumundunash 156, 169
Qaplantu 87 Shati-hupiti 255 Sumuqan 155
Qasr-e Abu Nasr 494 Shatilu 213 Surkh Dum 86, 581, 631, 644,
Qasr-e Shirin 45 Shelah 28 650
Qatna 711, 714 Shemshara 193, 209, 222;
see also Shashrum Tal-e Eblis 120
Rabibi 508 – 11 Shenkuru 310 Tal-i Ghazir 265, 385, 451, 533,
Radanu River 316 Sheplarpak 204, 209, 222 535 – 7, 545, 627
Rashi 155 Sherihum 183 – 5, 187, 281 Tall-i Mushki 570
Renan, E. 66 Sherizza 155 Tallak-kutur 731
Reu 28 Shidgau 185 – 6, 281 Talmud 11, 18, 421
Rimku 155 Shigrish 213 Tammaritu 169, 252 – 4,
Rishap-La 245, 471 Shikaft-e Salman 15, 17, 263, 329 – 30, 336, 345, 347,
Ruhuratir 156, 467, 526, 265, 560, 617, 622, 681, 355 – 6
729 – 30 683 – 4, 690, 732 – 3, 735, Tammuz 154
Ruksinum 152 769 – 70, 792, 835 Tan-Ruhurater 155, 206, 208,
Ru’ua 325 Shilhina-hamru-Lakamar 316, 474 213 – 16, 232 – 3, 469, 633

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 — Index —

Tan-Uli 219, 633, 678 – 9 Tepe Sialk 56, 75, 179, 280, Ummanunu 256
Tang-i Bulaghi 102 372, 383, 385, 561, 627, Ummanush 810, 819
Taoce 814 674; see also Tappeh Sialk Unsak 156, 169, 172
Tappe Hesar 120 and Tappe Sialk Unzi-kilik 172
Tappeh Hosseyniyeh 699 Tepe Sofalin 280, 372, 375, Upadarma 810
Tappeh Rahmatabad 102 385 – 6, 393, 451, Upandush 821
Tappeh Sialk 451; see also 627, 741 Upurkupak 442, 729
Tappe Sialk and Tepe Sialk Tépé Surkhegan 152, 184 Urartian, Urartians 87, 343,
Tappe Sialk 122, 124 – 5; see also Tepe Yahya 120, 179, 278, 280, 581, 769, 771, 854
Tappeh Sialk and Tepe Sialk 283, 372, 375 – 6, 385, 451, Ur Bau 595
Tarrisa 265, 434 – 5, 733 552, 627, 630, 632, 638 – 40, Urbilum 193 – 4, 196
Tarut 182, 278 642, 745 Urkesh 293
Tasak-sharri 313 Tepti Ahar 573, 576, 644, 745, Ururimashak 182
Tashritu 244 750 – 1, 769, 772 Uxians 836
Tatar 16 Tepti-Humban-Inshushinak 420
Tavernier, L.K. 16 Terah 28 Vaigana- 167
Taylor Cylinder 18 Tetep-mada 219, 222, 633 Veshnaveh 107, 122
Tazitta 213 Teumman 253, 328 – 30, 332 – 3,
Teispid 170 – 1, 256, 661, 335 – 7, 341, 343, 345 – 50, Xsaparapa- 167 – 8
808 – 12, 832 353, 688, 794, 796, 832
Tell Ağrab 783 Thadal 12 Yaba 686, 689
Tell Asmar 607, 631 Tigris 35, 193 – 4, 294, 315, Yabrat 194 – 6, 208, 214, 457,
Tell Brak 631 325 – 7 730; see also Ebarti
Tell Halaf 656, 790 – 1 Tikni 242 Yabulmat 213
Tell Hariri 193 Til-Tuba 253, 329 – 30, 332 – 3, Yamutbal 150, 209, 222, 304
Tell Harmal 223, 611 341 – 3, 345, 347, 357, Yasuj 108, 746, 803
Tell Kannas 373 687 – 8, 796
Tello 18, 41, 56, 63, 65, 71, 74, Tirazzish 810 Zababa 155
595, 607, 674, 699 Tirmium 148 Zababa-shuma-iddina 236,
Tell Suleimeh 631 Tirutur 264, 732 309
Tepe Farukhabad 211, 533 – 4, Transoxania 288 Zabshali 109, 148, 196,
539 Tunamissah 307 213 – 16, 282, 457
Tepe Gawra 370 Tupki-tilla 311 Zahara 148, 184, 186,
Tepe Ghabristan 551 – 2 Turanian 16 – 17, 639 189, 281
Tepe Giyan 56, 75, 211, 631, Zari 169, 256 – 7
642 Ubaid 372, 602, 605, 624, 764 Zasheshi 265
Tepe Hissar 207, 278, 284 – 5, Ugarit 559 Zedekiah 35
372, 624, 627, 639, 714 Ulai(a) River 12, 250, 325 – 6, Zeribar 103 – 4
Tepe Jalyan 745 329, 341, 712, 832 Zidanu 148
Tepe Mehr Ali 372 Ulamburiash 304 Zihi 737
Tepe Musian 753, 775 Umbadara 342 – 3, 346 – 7 Zimri 204, 209, 222, 483, 636,
Tepe Ozbaki 280, 451, 741 Umma 155, 183, 189, 216, 711
Tepe Pomp 419 311 Zinzi 737
Tepe Sabz 624 Ummanaldash 349 – 53, 355 Zizkurra 737, 817
Tepe Sharafabad 210, 458, Ummanigash 342, 346 – 7, Zulum 189
535 – 6, 538 – 9, 753 349 – 50, 355 Zurbati 147

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