I dreamed I was over in 11th Century Palestine, chillin' with my homies on the First Crusade. At some point, however, the scenery shifted and instead of hanging out with Bohemond and Tancred, I was with Xenophon and Clearchus and we were negotiating with some Achaemenid prince. I guess it may have been Cyrus himself.
Anyway, the Persian dude was wearing this kind of bullet-shaped gold helmet, maybe a foot tall, and in mid-harangue, he pulled it off to wipe sweat off his forehead, and the dude's head was shaped like that. It creeped me out enough that I was just staring at his freakishly deformed noggin and couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Then I woke up.
(PS: Firefox's spell checker is historically illiterate. I'll cut it slack on Bohemond and Clearchus, but it darned well oughtta know Achaemenid. At least it knows Xenophon.)