by Sally Hammond

The Art Gallery of NSW in Sydney, is currently hosting the visit of ten very special gentlemen. They all have rather stony expressions, but they are allowed to be that way as they are very ancient, very valuable remnants of another civilisation, brought here from X'ian in Lintong county, China. These lifesize warriors were commissioned by the 'First Emperor of China' in 221BC. See them and 140 other rare and ancient objects from December 2nd, 2010 until March 13th, 2011.

We were lucky enough to see these warriors in China. One of the benefits of our job is that sometimes we are allowed special concessions.

For this reason a while back Gordon and I found ourselves with official permission (and a watchful guide) walking amongst a section of the terracotta warriors at X'ian. Not gazing down on them from above, but actually standing beside them, looking into their vacant eyes, inspecting their scars of battle - well the injuries inflicted by centuries of entombment - and wondering not only at their chance discovery, but also about what inspired such an ambitious project in the first place.

In March 1974, Mr Yang a pomegranate orchardist was digging a well on his property near X'ian, the official beginning of the Silk Road. He was perplexed when his spade hit something he had never seen before. No wonder. The Terracotta Warriors, as they became known, were fired in the Qin dynasty, and had been buried for over 2000 years.

It's hard to imagine an emperor who would commission such a task. Around seven hundred craftsmen are said to have been employed to make these figures which are still being dug up and pieced together. These skilled artisans worked in twos, fashioning the soldier's features to match each other's faces. The figures were created larger than life to show their status, then fired in massive charcoal heated kilns.

Six thousand or so warriors have been exhumed already and they lie or stand in various stages of repair in a huge hangar-like auditorium. Who knows how many more there are. The air inside is thick with the dust raised by the archaeologists each evening when the crowds go home and they resume their tedious task of putting together the world's biggest and most intricate jigsaw.

Our brush with fame was well monitored by officials of course. Just weeks before, we were told, a tourist dressed to resemble a warrior had cunningly inserted himself amongst the figures. He was discovered of course and unceremoniously removed, to the amusement of the watching throngs.

Yet as we slowly moved amongst them, being SO careful not to knock or touch them, and Gordon photographing of course, we had the eerie feeling that there was life here too. I had the unnerving impression that at any moment one might clear his throat or gently tap me on the shoulder. It was as if their creators had left them with more than just their own appearance.

Seven million people come here each year to gaze in wonder on this clay army, lined up in rigid ranks. What tales would they have to tell if they could speak?

For a moment there, I almost thought one might.