High on the rugged slopes of the Himalayas and Hindu Kush, there lives a goat with a crown unlike any other. The markhor doesn’t wear jewels or gold, yet on its head twist horns so elaborate they look as if they were carved by an artisan’s hand. Each spiral rises skyward, winding like a corkscrew. Some of these horns stretch more than five feet long — taller than many people!

No two sets are exactly alike. One male’s horns may form a wide, open spiral while another’s are tighter, almost like braided rope. But all share that signature twist, giving the markhor its name, which means “snake eater” in Persian — a reference to how the horns resemble two serpents locked in a coil.

The horns serve more than beauty. During the rutting season, males clash in slow-motion duels, pressing horn against horn. Instead of striking violently like rams, they lean into each other and twist, the spirals locking as if designed for such contests. The winner earns the right to pass on his strength to the next generation. Even in this, Jehovah’s creation shows restraint and design — horns strong enough for battle, yet shaped in a way that allows strength to be tested without constant fatal injury.

The markhor itself is a master of balance. It navigates cliffs and rocky slopes where a misstep could be fatal. To see one stand tall with its spiraling horns catching the mountain sunlight is to glimpse majesty at rest.

But why such a design? Why horns that spiral, and not just straight or curved like those of other goats? Scientists still puzzle over the precise reason, though they know the shape helps reduce the risk of snapping during clashes. Whatever the mechanics, the effect is stunning — a living sculpture climbing mountainsides.

Doesn’t this remind us of the words of Psalm 104:24 (NWT): “How many your works are, O Jehovah! You have made all of them in wisdom.” When we see animals like the markhor, with their extraordinary crowns of bone, we realize creation is not merely functional — it is also filled with wonder, variety, and beauty.

And there’s another lesson. The markhor’s horns take years to grow to their full glory. Patience is written into their design. Each spiral marks not a moment, but a passage of time. What if we saw our own spiritual growth that way? Not as something instant, but as something spiraling steadily upward, year after year, until it becomes a testimony of endurance and faith.

Isaiah 40:31 (NWT) reminds us: “Those hoping in Jehovah will regain power. They will soar on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not tire out.” Like the markhor, we may climb steep paths. But if we keep spiraling upward, patiently and steadily, Jehovah will see the beauty of our endurance — a crown more valuable than horns of any length.