When we imagine ancient warriors, we usually picture bearded men in armour, testosterone-fuelled and sword-swinging. What we don’t picture is someone like me: a eunuch. But in ancient Assyria, eunuchs weren’t just tolerated or hidden away in palace corners. They fought alongside soldiers, governed provinces, advised kings, and sometimes even led armies. If you’ve bought into the idea that eunuchs were passive or powerless, I’m here to tell you that Assyria didn’t get the memo.

The Neo-Assyrian Empire (roughly 900–600 BCE) was a militaristic superpower with a brutal reputation. This was an empire built on conquest, fear, and administration. Power was centralised around the king, but it was maintained by a ruthless and efficient bureaucratic machine – and eunuchs were a critical part of that machine. Unlike other men, eunuchs couldn’t found rival dynasties. This made them seem more loyal, more trustworthy, and much easier to control. In theory.

In practice, eunuchs ended up wielding serious power. They were often placed in key positions where personal loyalty to the king was paramount: the palace, the military, the provinces. One of the highest-ranking officials in the empire was the turtānu, the commander-in-chief of the army. The role was often held by a eunuch. Think about that: the supreme military leader of the most feared army in the Near East was often someone whose masculinity had been surgically altered. It’s hard to overstate how destabilising that is to the usual historical narrative.

Assyrian art makes it clear that eunuchs weren’t just administrative drones. Palace reliefs from Nimrud and Nineveh show them leading prisoners, receiving tribute, and even preparing for battle. You can identify them by their rounder faces, lack of beards, and different hairstyles. But there’s nothing “soft” about their posture or role. They stand with authority. Sometimes they’re armed. Sometimes they’re commanding others. The visual message is crystal clear: these eunuchs are not side characters. They’re in charge.

And it wasn’t just optics. Royal inscriptions mention eunuchs by name – a mark of high status – and record their achievements in battle and governance. Dayyan-Aššur, for instance, served as turtānu under Shalmaneser III and was responsible for several major campaigns. He was a eunuch. Another named eunuch, Nabu-shar-usur, governed the province of Suhu. These weren’t exceptions. They were part of a pattern.

One popular explanation for the prominence of eunuchs in Assyria is the idea that they were seen as less threatening to the royal bloodline. Since they couldn’t produce heirs, they were perfect palace functionaries: no ambitions for their own dynasty, just service to the crown. But that doesn’t explain why so many eunuchs ended up commanding armies or ruling distant territories. Clearly, this was about more than just guarding the king’s concubines.

Eunuchs were power brokers. They were instrumental in keeping the Assyrian empire running. Their bodies may have been marked by castration, but their identities were not defined by absence. Instead, they seem to have occupied a unique third category: neither fully male nor fully outside masculinity. They were hypermasculine in some contexts – warriors, commanders, governors – and yet their bodies defied traditional gender categories. This paradox may have made them uniquely suited to empire: unplaceable, loyal, and useful.

It’s tempting to romanticise this, to see Assyria as somehow more progressive or inclusive. But let’s be real: castration wasn’t a choice. It was often forced on boys in order to create a class of loyal servants. The system was exploitative, even if some eunuchs managed to gain extraordinary power within it. We shouldn’t confuse opportunity with liberation.

Still, there is something compelling about the figure of the Assyrian eunuch. They disrupt our expectations. They show us that gender and power have never fit into neat boxes. They remind us that history is full of people who don’t fit modern binaries – and that sometimes, those people changed the course of empires.

So next time someone tells you eunuchs were weak, delicate, or irrelevant, tell them about the turtānu. Tell them about the Assyrian battlefield. Tell them that sometimes, the blade that cuts the deepest isn’t the one at your side, but the one that shaped your fate and gave you power.

References:

• Liverani, Mario. The Ancient Near East: History, Society and Economy. Routledge, 2013.
• Kertai, David. The Architecture of Late Assyrian Royal Palaces. Oxford University Press, 2015.
• Radner, Karen. “The Assyrian Empire and its Political System.” In A Companion to the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, edited by D.T. Potts, Wiley-Blackwell, 2012.
• Winter, Irene J. “Sex, Rhetoric, and the Public Monument: The Alluring Body of Naram-Sin of Agade.” Art History 27.3 (2004): 388-411.
• Parpola, Simo. “Assyrian Propaganda and Historical Records.” State Archives of Assyria Bulletin 1 (1987): 161–198.