Blades of the Barbarians

James Abraham Carter

The alarms blared, a cacophony of screeching sounds and flashing crimson warning lights across the Starstrider’s instrument panel. Alex Rapier, his knuckles white against the control yokes, fought a losing battle. The hyperdrive propulsion unit flared erratically, then died, plunging the ship into normal space and spinning wildly. “No, no, no!” he muttered, sweat beading on his brow. His one-man exploration vessel, his home for the past three years, was failing catastrophically. The automated repair systems flickered, displaying growing perturbations in the core’s containment field geometry that could not be corrected.

Then, a flicker on the auxiliary long-range scanner – a planet, Earth-like in its atmospheric composition, a shimmering blue-green globe in the void. Desperate, Alex poured every ounce of remaining power into the secondary drive units, correcting the Starstrider’s trajectory. His speeding ship gained the planet. The vessel kissed the upper atmosphere, bleeding off speed as the antimatter containment field began to fail.

“Abandon ship!” the automated voice screamed. He didn’t need to be told twice. He slammed the ejection button; the escape pod detached with a violent jolt. Behind him, the Starstrider, a valiant but spent friend, erupted into a silent, blossoming explosion, its remnants scattering like fiery tears across the blackness of space. Alex watched, a pang of loss hitting him, before his pod’s re-entry shield flared, plunging him into a fiery descent.

The G-forces pinned him, the heat radiating through the pod’s reinforced hull. It felt like he was on fire and going over Niagra falls in a barrel. Then, a sudden lurch as the drogue chutes deployed snapped him upright. A few moments later, the main canopy unfurled, a vast, dark disc against the rapidly brightening sky. He drifted down, an alien world unfolding beneath him. It was a harsh, unforgiving landscape, a canvas of baked ochre and rust-red sand stretching to the horizon. Strange, gnarled, thorny plants, like skeletal fingers reaching up from the earth, dotted the vast expanse, interspersed with colossal, wind-sculpted rock formations that resembled abstract carvings. The air was thick with fine dust, tasting of minerals in the dry, hot air.

He landed hard; the impact jarred through his bones, but the pod’s crumple zones and shock absorbers took the worst of it. Alex unbuckled his harness, and the sterile air of the pod was quickly replaced by the dry, searing wind of this new world as he kicked open the hatch. Alex blinked as the light assaulted his eyes. He stepped stiffly out of the pod, his joints protesting, taking in the desolate beauty. That’s when he saw them.

Six figures, tall and impossibly thin, silhouetted against the crimson horizon. They moved with an unsettling grace, riding creatures that defied easy categorization. They were large, flightless, bird-like animals resembling ostriches with their powerful legs and long necks, but their heads were more reptilian than avian, and their feathers shimmered with the iridescent blues and greens of a peacock. As they drew closer, Alex saw their riders clearly. Their skin was a leathery, hairless integument, mottled like a leopard’s coat, and their eyes, large and cat-like, glowed with an unnerving amber.

One of the riders, taller and more imposing than the others, with intricate tribal markings etched onto his mottled skin, dismounted. His gaze was sharp, assessing. “I am Thrag, chief of the Red Claw tribe,” he introduced himself, his voice a guttural rumble that sounded like the growl of a lion. He looked Alex up and down, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “A stranger. All strangers are enemies. And you trespass on our territory. You are now our slave.”

Alex’s universal translator, a discreet implant behind his ear, hummed to life. He raised his hands, palms open, a gesture of peace universal across most known sentient species. “Greetings,” he said, his voice calm despite the perilous situation he was in. “There is no need to enslave me. I mean you no harm. My ship malfunctioned. I am a stranger seeking only… safe passage.”

Thrag glanced at the escape pod. “We saw you descend. It is well for you that you did not attempt to deceive us by claiming to be either a god from the sky or a powerful magician. Our world of Madran once possessed such machines. But then the war came, and so great was the destruction that the civilization of the ancients collapsed into complete barbarism. Only dead cities remain - silent testimonies to that which was, and in these decaying ruins hide the malevolent spirits spawned by this ancient conflict. But enough of this history lesson. Seize him!”

Before Alex could react, two of the humanoids were upon him, their movements swift and practiced. They disarmed him of the small utility knife he carried and roughly hoisted him onto the back of one of their weird mounts, which Thrag called a ruk. They set off. The creature’s feathers were surprisingly soft beneath his hands, its powerful legs carrying him swiftly across the desert landscape. Under guard, Alex rode for many hours. The sun descended, and the landscape slowly transformed as the two moons, one pale and ethereal, the other a fiery orange, began their ascent.

By the time they reached the oasis, night had fully fallen. A cluster of conical tents, reminiscent of ancient Amerindian dwellings, stood grouped around a shimmering pool of water. Torches flared, casting dancing shadows, and the air was filled with the low hum of alien voices. He was dismounting from the ruk when a piercing scream ripped through the night.

Alex turned, his blood freezing. A woman, stark naked, her long dark hair tangled, was scrambling away from a hulking nomad, terror etched on her face. The nomad, a brutish figure, lunged, tackling her to the sandy ground. Her screams intensified, raw and desperate. Without thinking, without a moment’s hesitation, Alex surged forward. He had seen enough suffering in his travels to know he couldn’t be a passive bystander.

The nomad was forcing the terrified woman’s legs apart, thrusting his fingers into her to loosen the tightness of her virgin slit. He was about to rape her. Alex lunged at him, a wild and desperate move that sent the man sprawling. The nomad roared, scrambling to his feet, eyes blazing with rage. He was bigger and broader, but Alex had spent years training in various martial arts disciplines, a necessity for a solo adventurer navigating the perilous fringes of unexplored space.

Other nomads began to rush forward, but Thrag, who had dismounted and was watching with an oddly detached amusement, raised a hand. “Stop!” He commanded, his voice carrying the full weight of his authority. “Let them fight. Let us see the strength of this stranger.”

The nomad came at Alex with a wild, powerful swing. Alex ducked under it, his movements fluid. He parried a follow-up punch. Alex saw an opening. He swiftly attacked. A quick, precise strike to the solar plexus, followed by a swift uppercut to the jaw. The nomad reeled, gasping. He was strong, tenacious, but an unrefined fighter. Alex, leveraging his more advanced close-quarters combat skills, danced around him, landing punishing blows. Finally, the nomad lunged, a desperate, clumsy attack. Alex pivoted, delivering a devastating kick to the man’s knee, then, seizing the opportunity, swept his leg, sending him crashing to the ground. The nomad struggled to rise, but Alex was already on him, a swift, final blow to the temple. The man went limp, utterly still.

A silence fell over the camp, broken only by the woman’s ragged sobs. Thrag approached, his amber eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He looked at the fallen nomad, then back at Alex. “You fight well, stranger. You killed him.”

“Self-defense,” Alex stated, his chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through him.

Thrag nodded slowly. “Indeed. Such prowess is wasted in a common slave. You have shown strength and bravery. You may have the girl. She is now your slave. And the dead man’s tent, his belongings. All yours,” announced Thrag, pointing at the dwelling. “But you must swear loyalty to me, Thrag, chief of the Red Claw Tribe. You will obey my commands.”

Alex looked at the trembling woman, then back at Thrag. This was not the freedom he sought, but it was a chance, a reprieve. “I swear,” he said, his voice firm, “to obey your commands, Chief Thrag.”

“It is done,” Thrag declared, a glint of satisfaction in his amber eyes. “Take your woman.”

Alex went to the woman, gently helping her to her feet. Only her cat-like eyes showed that she wasn’t human. She was shaking violently, tears streaming down her face, blood dripping from her violated slit. He draped his own exploration jacket over her, guiding her toward the closest conical tent – the one that had belonged to her vile assailant.

Inside the tent, the air was surprisingly cool, smelling faintly of dried herbs and dust. Lotuna, slowly, began to put on the tattered clothes her assailant had ripped from her body – a simple tunic and trousers of rough-spun fabric. Her hands still trembled, but her eyes, when she finally looked at Alex, held a quiet, resilient strength.

Alex explained his off-planet origins, keeping his voice soft and reassuring. “Who are you?” He asked upon the completion of his elucidation, which the woman accepted with the same unfazed demeanor as Thrag.

“I am Lotuna,” she whispered, her voice wonderfully melodic. “Daughter of Kofu, ruler of Labnar.” Her gaze met his, now calm and candid. “I was captured when my caravan was attacked while returning from Fezwon, our most sacred shrine. I was traveling on a pilgrimage in disguise, and it was well that I did, for the nomads hate my father, who has foiled many of their raids, and would kill me by slow torture in revenge if they knew my true identity.”

Alex nodded, processing this. A princess, traveling incognito to escape the blades of the barbarians. A dangerous world, indeed. He was about to ask more when a subtle shift in the moonlight at the tent’s entrance caught his eye. A shadow. Alex moved with the speed of an uncoiling spring, amazing Lotuna with his swiftness. He lunged, bursting through the flap.

Thrag stood there, his amber eyes wide, caught in the act of eavesdropping. Without hesitation, Alex delivered a lightning-fast punch, precise and powerful, to the chief’s jaw. Thrag’s eyes rolled back, and he crumpled without a sound. Alex dragged the unconscious leader inside, securing his hands and feet with spare lengths of rope he found in the tent, and efficiently gagged him.

“We have to go. Now,” Alex said, turning to Lotuna.

Her eyes gleamed with determination. “Yes. There is an ancient city nearby, abandoned. The nomads believe such ruins are haunted by evil desert spirits. They will not enter them. We can hide there.”

Both moved with swift efficiency. They gathered what little food and water they could find in the tent, along with two wickedly sharp shortswords that had belonged to the dead nomad. Leaving Thrag bound and gagged, they slipped quietly out into the moonlit night. The camp was still, most of the nomads asleep. They moved silently to the picket line where the ruks were tethered. A single alert guard stood by the alien steeds. Alex crept up on him with the stealth of a stalking tiger. The man turned his head slightly. Alex froze, sweat on his brow as he crouched in the shadows. The sentry was again still. Alex sprang, his hand whipping down. The man slumped to the sand, incapacitated by the swift, clean strike to the back of the neck that rendered him unconscious.

They quickly saddled two ruks, the massive creatures shifting restlessly but making little noise. Alex mounted one, Lotuna the other, clinging to its reins as she kicked it into a sprint. They tore out of the oasis, sending up plumes of sand. But the brief commotion had been enough. A piercing cry erupted from the camp, followed by a chorus of shouts. The alarm was sounded.

Clawed feet pounded behind them, growing closer. The nomads, swift and skilled riders, were in hot pursuit. Alex glanced back, seeing the dark shapes of mounted warriors silhouetted against the two moons, gaining on them. Lotuna urged her ruk faster, her face grim. They raced across the desert, the twin moons casting long, distorted shadows of gnarled plants and strange rock formations.

The pursuing riders were almost upon them when, cresting a low, sandy hill, they saw it. The crumbling, weathered walls of an ancient city - a silent sentinel of the endless desert. In a final burst of desperate speed, their flagging mounts dashed down the hill, their powerful legs churning through the sand and then through a massive, arched gateway of reinforced concrete, cracked and scarred by millennia of wind and sand.

Behind them, the pursuing nomads came to a halt at the city’s entrance, their ruks skittish. They shouted curses, their voices echoing in the desolate night, but none of them dared to cross the threshold of the foreboding ruins. They milled for a moment, then, with a final, frustrated roar, turned their beasts and rode off into the vast, empty desert.

Alex and Lotuna dismounted, their ruks exhausted, their own bodies aching. The city was eerie, a labyrinth of crumbling structures. They found the most intact building, a multi-story edifice of worn and crumbling concrete, and ventured inside. It was dark, save for the light of the twin moons filtering through gaping holes in the walls. They settled down, Lotuna in one ground-floor room, Alex in another, both too weary to clean the dust from their faces. Alex, despite the lingering adrenaline, drifted into a fitful sleep.

A piercing scream ripped him from slumber. Lotuna! He was on his feet in an instant, sword in hand, rushing to her room. It was empty. His heart constricted. On the sandy floor, clearly visible in the faint moonlight, were strange footprints leading to another room. Fear, cold and sharp, pierced Alex. He followed the trail, dashing down a wide ramp into the building’s cellars. Fear for the princess was a spur to his flying feet. The nomad’s terror of evil spirits was based on something real.

The way was illuminated by a strange, eerie glow – bioluminescent lichen growing in patches on the ancient walls. Another scream, closer this time, echoed from deeper within the labyrinth of cellars. He dashed forward, bursting into a vast, cavernous chamber.

The sight made his blood run cold. Lotuna, her shredded clothing torn from her, was struggling completely nude in the grip of a monstrous creature. It was a bipedal insectoid being with an emerald-green exoskeleton and multiple tentacles writhing from its flanks. Its mouth was a gaping, tooth-rimmed maw. Its eyes were black and faceted like gems. Smaller, equally grotesque versions of it, clearly its brood, scuttled around its horrible form, chittering with anticipation. The creature had brought Lotuna as food for its monstrous offspring. The thing was so nightmarish that it could only have been spawned by the mutating radiation of the ancient nuclear war Thrag had mentioned.

“Get away from her!” Alex roared, a primal fury igniting within him. He charged, his sword a silver blur. The creatures reacted, the larger one dropping Lotuna with a hiss to meet his attack. Its tentacles lashed out like whips. Alex parried, ducked, and slashed wildly, his years of training merging with raw survival instinct. He felt a barbed tentacle graze his arm, causing searing pain. He roared, driving his blade into the creature’s body. Black, viscous blood oozed. It fell back. But then the smaller ones swarmed him, snapping with rows of needle-sharp teeth. He spun, slashing, kicking, impaling one, then another. The stench of their blood filled the chamber.

The adult monster, seeing its brood being slaughtered, charged back into the fray despite its wound, roaring savagely. Alex ducked under its sweeping tentacles. He lunged forward, slamming his sword deep into its chest. The creature collapsed to the floor, mortally wounded, its hissing cries echoing, and its tentacles twitching. A final spasm shook it, and then it was still. Alex, panting, turned to the smaller ones. He dispatched the wounded quickly, his fury still burning, until all the horrors had been slain.

He stumbled to Lotuna, who was huddled against a wall, trembling uncontrollably, her eyes wide with terror. Her breasts were badly bruised where the monster had mercilessly squeezed them, and welts from its other tentacles covered her body. He knelt, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder, her body shaking. He held her tightly, whispering reassurances, feeling her fear and his own relief. He carried her out of that terrifying chamber, back up the ramp, and into the main building. The rest of the night, Alex sat guard, his sword across his lap, watching over the exhausted girl as she finally drifted into a deep sleep by his side.

A week later, after much hard riding across the merciless desert, their ruks plodding steadily through the heat and sand, they finally saw it – the shimmering outline of Labnar. It was a metropolis of low, whitewashed mud-brick buildings built on a hillside, at the foot of which was an oasis thick with palm-like vegetation. Exhausted but triumphant, they rode through the cool, shady trees to the city gates.

Lotuna, regaining her regal composure, addressed the grizzled captain of the gate guards. "Send a messenger ahead to my father, Kofu. Advise him that Lotuna, his daughter, has returned safely.”

The captain’s eyes widened, not at first recognizing the princess in her disheveled state. Then he barked an order, and a young runner sprinted away. Lotuna and Alex continued up the broad avenue, crowds parting respectfully, whispers following them. When they arrived at the palace, a more elaborate structure adorned with bright friezes painted on its whitewashed walls, Kofu was waiting. He was a man of dignified bearing. His face, etched with worry, melted into overwhelming relief upon seeing his daughter. Beside him stood a young man in gaudy attire, his expression a mix of arrogance and impatience. In the background were the king’s ministers.

Kofu rushed forward, embracing Lotuna joyfully. “My daughter! I received reports of the caravan attack. I feared you were captured and sold into slavery! I’ve had search parties looking for you day and night.”

Lotuna pulled back, her eyes shining as she turned to Alex. “Father, this is Alex. He saved my life, not once, but many times from unimaginable horrors. He is the reason I am here, alive and well.” She heaped more praise upon the Earthman, her voice filled with genuine admiration.

The gaudily dressed man sneered, stepping forward to place a possessive arm around Lotuna’s slim waist. Alex felt a pang of something he dared not name, a sudden crestfallen feeling. The man’s eyes, filled with insane jealousy, raked over Alex. “I am Prince Tomu,” he announced, his voice dripping with condescension. “Lotuna’s betrothed.” He saw the flicker of disappointment in Alex’s eyes, and a cruel laugh escaped him. “A peasant, fallen for a princess. Perhaps I should teach the fellow his proper place.”

Alex, his patience worn thin after a week of hard riding in the harsh desert, felt a surge of annoyance. He met Tomu’s haughty gaze unflinchingly. “The only thing you could teach anyone, Prince Tomu, is how to be a simpering popinjay.”

Tomu’s face flushed crimson. Enraged, he drew his gilded and gem-studded sword with a flourish, its polished blade glinting in the sun. Alex, instantly on guard, freed his own weapon, its practical, well-worn hilt familiar in his hand.

“Stop,” shouted Kofu. “The joy of my daughter’s safe return shall not be marred by bloodshed. Sheathe your swords, or by the gods, I’ll call the guards.”

“This base-born knave insulted me,” snarled Tomu. “Only his spilt blood will serve as an adequate apology. I demand my right to settle this by combat to the death.”

“Father,” gasped Lotuna, her fingers flying to her heaving breast in consternation.

The king ‘s raised hand silenced her in royal command. “I don’t like this either. But Tomu has the right by law, and so I must concede to his desires. Let the fight commence, and may Hathvara, goddess of justice and mercy, grant victory to the righteous.”

The duel began. Tomu was skilled, but his movements were theatrical, his attacks predictable. Alex, faster, more efficient, parried Tomu’s lunges with ease, his blade dancing. Tomu soon realized he was outmatched, facing certain death. Desperation contorted the prince’s face. As Alex pressed him, Tomu resorted to a vile trick: the crafty prince spat directly into Alex’s eye to distract him as he lunged.

Alex flinched, but years of honed reflexes took over. He managed to parry Tomu’s desperate thrust, his vision momentarily blurred. Then, with a swift, devastating counter, he ran Tomu through. The gaudy prince gasped, his eyes wide with shock, before collapsing dead at Alex’s feet.

A stunned silence fell upon the king’s ministers. Lotuna rushed forward, not to Tomu, but to Alex. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I love you, Alex,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I… I couldn’t say it before. I was promised to that detestable man in a loveless arranged marriage.”

The king, who had watched the duel unfold with a mixture of horror and grim understanding, approached. He looked at the fallen Tomu. Kofu’s plan to unite his dynasty with that of the city-state of Hedaram was now as dead as its arrogant prince. King Naxgan, father of Prince Tomu, would be devastated and furious. But his son had unwisely issued the challenge under the law, and the fight had been fairly won. This was a most serious diplomatic incident, but unlikely to lead to war, as Kofu’s army was twice the size of Naxgan’s.

The king turned his gaze to Alex, standing tall and strong, his daughter clinging to him. The contrast between the conceited, foppish prince and Lotuna’s valorous savior was striking, and he realized that he had been terribly blinded by cold political calculations, which had scant regard for his daughter’s happiness. She was clearly smitten with Alex, and he could hardly punish the man who had rescued her and whom she deeply loved.

“Prince Tomu, by his dishonorable actions, showed himself unworthy of my daughter,” Kofu stated, his voice ringing with authority in the ears of his ministers. He looked at Alex, his expression softening. “You, stranger, have amply proven yourself. A man of courage, skill, and honor. The gods have surely favored your arrival. Heaven has made known its will. I am certain your union with my daughter will be blessed.” He smiled, a genuine, warm smile.

Alex held Lotuna close, her confession infusing him with indescribable joy. After all the chaos, the fear, the struggle, he had found something unexpected and profound on this harsh, alien world: A home and a love that felt like destiny. His long, lonely years as a space explorer had ended, and a new, unexpected journey had just begun.

The End