When he was eight or nine, someone at a dig site had given him a copy of a passage of hieroglyphics and told him to use it for some entertaining vocabulary practice he would not get from reading tomb inscriptions or the enormous palace walls where the ancient pharaohs boasted of their prowess in combat but not to mention it to his father, and once Indy completed the translation he could understand the reason for the warning.

It was an amusing story, but Indy mostly forgot about it until they were back home where they could eat uncooked greens without having to worry about catching dysentery, at which point he found himself looking uncomfortably between his plate and one specific artifact among the portion of the collection which his father had very unfortunately chosen to display on shelves lining the walls of the dining room.

When his father demanded to know why he was not eating, Indy, remembering that a boy his age probably should not have read such a story, prevaricated for as long as he could, but under continued pressure he blurted out, "That statue of Horus has been staring at my salad, and I don't trust him!"