Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: Jack Abrams rescues a mysterious woman from a vile villain, but his noble actions plunge him into unexpected and wild adventures among an unknown people in the heart of a mysterious city. Will he survive these harrowing ordeals? Only by reading this exciting tale will you have your question answered.
Chapter 1: A Vision in Lavinder
The dense jungle canopy of the strange lilac-hued rainforest was penetrated by a shaft of crimson sunlight from the planet’s alien star. The slanting beam, in which small winged creatures danced like living jewels, illuminated a powerfully built man kneeling before one of the uncountable outlandish growths that comprised the diverse biosphere of the world of Zyta.
Jack Abrams looked more like a burly big-game hunter than the botanist that he actually was. But, of course, on an alien planet with strange dangers at every turn, a level of rugged strength and fitness was required that most academics never needed. Zyta was a relatively new world, discovered only a decade ago and still largely unexplored, as the Earth research station had been established a mere two years prior.
Abrams was in the least well-known northern region of the Achulian continent, a sprawling landmass choked with thick jungle from which lofty mountain ranges soared, the impressive peaks spawning mighty river systems that snaked their way to the vastness of the Thorassa Sea. The research station where he was based was on the coast. But at the moment, he was inland about 500 miles from Port Alpha, as the collection of habitation domes was called. Abrams had arrived at his present location by a boat loaded with supplies and equipment that was currently moored about a quarter mile behind him on the banks of the Ebros River, which rivaled the Nile in its vast meandering extent.
It was a solitary mission that he was on, searching for exotic specimens that might prove effective against disease, for many drugs had originally been developed from medicinal plants. Abrams was just about to bag a specimen that he felt might prove promising - a metallic purple growth with serrated leaves and a root resembling ginseng - when a scream of agony sounded in the distance.
Abrams was on his feet instantly, his heart quickening at the wild cry. The tortured scream sounded more human than animal. Quickly, the botanist pocketed the sample, unslung the hunting rifle from his shoulder, and set off as fast as he could in the direction of the awful sound. Again, the wild screams, now almost continuous, burst forth as he forged a path through the dense undergrowth of alien pseudo-ferns, the anguished cries a hot spur to his frantic efforts as he silently cursed the hindering vegetation.
Soon, he came upon a shocking scene of vile torture that made his stomach churn in deep revulsion. A young native woman was bound to a tree. Horrid insectoid creatures were crawling over her naked body, biting her breasts thighs and loins viciously. She writhed in agony in her bonds, her screams most piteous. By her side stood a leering man whom he recognized. It was Ian Richards. The fellow was Port Alpha’s best mechanic. Unfortunately, the same could not be said of his character - a shifty-eyed fortune seeker who spent his annual leave panning for gold in the Ebros River and its many tributaries.
All of this Abrams absorbed in a fraction of a second. He burst into the small clearing. His face was a thundercloud of rage, and his rifle was pointed directly and aggressively at Richards. “If you value your life, then spray the girl with repellent. Now!” He shouted wildly.
Richards turned, a look of mingled shock and fright on his ugly countenance. Clearly, he hadn’t planned on being discovered. The merciless expression on Abram’s face and the gleaming muzzle of the rifle convinced him to comply swiftly. He jerked the can of universal repellent from his utility belt - a vital necessity in this hothouse world with its innumerable deadly invertebrates - and quickly sprayed his screaming captive.
The horrid creatures dropped from the writhing girl like dead leaves from a tree. They were called Jacobson’s Devils, named after the entomologist who had discovered them. Their bite was extremely agonizing, akin to being stabbed with a red-hot needle. One bite was deadly to a human. The natives of this world, however, had developed a tolerance for the poison. But even so, the girl would soon die if the antidote were not administered swiftly.
“All right, Richards,” barked Abrams, his rage barely under control. “Put your hands on your head and back away from the girl while I administer a shot of vertron. Reach for that gun at your hip, and by God, you are a dead man.”
“Okay,” stammered the brute as he complied. “Look,” he continued, nervously licking his thin lips. “We can make a deal. There is no need to involve the law. See that huge gold necklace she is wearing? Whatever tribe she is from must have access to a deposit of the ore. If we can get her to talk, we can split the profits.”
“The only thing I want to split right now is your ugly skull,” replied Abrams, his voice hard with fury as he injected the antidote taken from the medical kit clipped to his belt. “As for the law, you know the penalty for mistreating natives as well as I do. I’m taking you in. You’ll be swinging at the end of a rope for this, you sadistic bastard. And believe me, I’ll relish the sight.”
Richards was now in a real panic. Seeing that Abrams couldn’t be bribed to keep quiet, and facing the hangman’s noose, he made a desperate move. The fortune seeker’s hand darted for his revolver. He was fast, but Abrams was faster. The botanist’s rifle cracked. Flying lead drilled through Richards' putrid heart. Blood sprayed and his corpse crashed to the soil.
After making sure the fiend was satisfyingly dead, Abrams turned back to the girl and carefully scrutinized her. She was a vision of loveliness that took his breath away. Except for her feathery hair, which was a startling shade of turquoise and her lavender skin that was striped in the manner of a tiger, she bore a remarkable similarity in general anatomy to a human woman. To his relief, he saw that the vertron was having a swift effect. The bite marks on her body were no longer the ugly swollen lumps that they had been, and she wasn’t trembling in agony any more.
The girl, staring at him with large and expressive violet eyes, cringed as he drew his survival knife. “Be at ease,” he said in kotu, the local dialect. “I’m going to free you from your bonds. My name is Jack Abrams,” he continued as he began to saw at the cruel ropes binding her. “Who are you and how were you captured?”
The girl hesitated for a moment as she looked him over. Knowledge of the Earth outpost on the coast had filtered through, so she wasn’t completely ignorant of humanity. This man, despite his strange appearance, seemed a kind and trustworthy person to whom she could appeal for succor. Varuda decided to tell him as much about herself as seemed prudent.
“I am Varuda,” she replied. “I am an escaped slave from Naxara, fleeing a cruel master. I have been traveling for many days in the jungle. The man from whom you saved me captured me while I was sleeping. You rescued me from a cruel death at the hands of an evil man, and I am most grateful.”
As the last rope fell away, Abrams looked at the gold necklace Varuda was wearing. Although a botanist, he had some knowledge of anthropology, which was essential when dealing with the locals. The tribes that had so far been encountered were at the level of the Stone Age. The gold necklace that the girl was wearing displayed sophisticated craftsmanship far beyond the capabilities of the known peoples of the region.
“Where did you get that necklace?” he curiously asked, pointing at the item after he had sheathed his knife. “Are such things common among your people?”
Varuda gasped and placed her hand upon it. It was as if she were so accustomed to wearing the item that she had forgotten it was there.
“I… I stole it from my master,” she replied. “I was fleeing to the human settlement on the coast. I know you value gold as my people do, and that you don’t own slaves. I was going to exchange it in return for sanctuary.”
Abrams nodded. So, it appeared that there were more advanced cultures hidden in the planet’s vast jungles. He felt a surge of excitement at the discovery of an unknown people. That they had escaped detection wasn’t surprising. A strange force emanated from this area of the continent, a mysterious power that distorted satellite imaging, making it utterly useless. The weird phenomenon, still a mystery to Earth’s scientists, also interfered with electrical equipment such as radios and drones. Exploration was confined to 19th century means - a combination of slogging through thick jungle on foot and traveling by water on steam-powered riverboats.
His excitement, however, was tempered by concern for the girl - the culture shock she might experience when immersed in Earth society. But be that as it may, he clearly couldn’t leave her here in this hostile wilderness, friendless and alone. And besides, there was Richards’ death to account for, and she was the witness he’d need to justify his killing of the man.
“I’ll take you to Port Alpha,” he said, focusing on more immediate matters. “You don’t have to give me anything for my help.” Then, looking at the dead man, “I’ll leave the body here. The journey to the research station takes five days, and I’m not having his ugly carcass stink up my boat with its decay.”
They moved off, and after about twenty minutes, arrived at the riverbank where Abrams' craft was moored. It was a medium-sized boat constructed from a tough, lightweight composite material. The steam engine powering it, however, was an anachronism; but being entirely analog, it was unaffected by the mysterious radiation of the region. They boarded the craft; Abrams fired up the boiler, weighed anchor, and the boat was soon underway.
About half an hour had passed. Varuda was sitting beside him, clad in the spare clothes he had given her. She had displayed a surprising grasp of the principles of steam technology and firearms when he responded to her insightful questions about these topics. It was as if she were familiar with basic scientific concepts, and Abrams wondered just how advanced her people were. He had asked, of course, being curious. But she had evaded most of his questions, so he hadn’t pushed the matter. For some reason, the girl was being unduly secretive.
Varuda gasped in sudden fright, interrupting Abrams' puzzled ponderings. She pointed skyward. “A Naxaran ship of the air,” she cried in alarm. “Quickly, head for the shore. We must take shelter beneath the trees.”
Abrams, who had looked up, was amazed. High above them, but rapidly descending, was an aircraft of strange design, the likes of which he had never seen before. It was a flat oval constructed of wood, with a waist-high metal railing around its circumference. There was no sign of propellers, jet or rocket engines, or the more advanced 23rd century propulsion systems. How the craft could fly was beyond Abrams’ ability to elucidate. What was clear, however, was the ten-man crew that could be seen aboard the vessel. They were of the same race as the girl and were armed with powerful composite recurve bows, their compact nature suited to the confines of the weird machine.
Abrams didn’t question the girl’s command. In most cultures, escaped slaves and those who helped them were harshly punished, and he had no reason to believe that the Naxarans, who were very close to humanity in body and mind, would be any different in their attitudes.
Quickly, his face lined with growing worry, Abrams steered his boat toward the shore and opened the throttle. The steam engine chuffed away like the rapid breathing of a sprinter; the boat accelerated. But the Naxaran airship dove upon them with the swiftness of a plummeting hawk. Bows twanged. Varuda cried in pain as an arrow pierced her back. Abrams echoed her shout of agony as another speeding projectile thudded into his shoulder. He cursed and jerked it out. The arrowhead was more like a short, thick hypodermic needle than the conventional barbed point. Dizziness suddenly struck him. He saw Varuda collapse, and a moment later, he joined her, sprawled unconscious at the bottom of the boat.
Chapter 2: The Hidden City
Abrams regained consciousness. He lay in a stupor for several minutes as the effects of the drug gradually wore off, struggling to comprehend where he was and what had happened to him. Then, when his mind came to full alertness, he looked around and realized that he was aboard the strange aircraft that had attacked his boat. The thing that struck the startled Earthman was the complete absence of any controls. What drew his eye was a young girl sitting on a chair at the bow of the aircraft. Her face was composed, her expression serene as if in meditation, and on her head was a silver circlet set with six glowing amber-colored gemstones spaced evenly around its circumference.
Fear, more for Varuda than for himself, seized Abrams as the sight of the girl jolted his memory. He looked about wildly and then relaxed a little when he saw her tensely standing against the railing, two burly warriors on either side of her. Varuda, unlike the Earthman, was unrestrained and was now dressed in a delicate white robe that the crew had obviously brought with them. Abrams tested the tough cords binding his wrists and ankles. He silently cursed. An additional rope around his waist bound him to a railing post. There was no way he was getting out of this.
His slight movement caught the attention of one of the warriors standing next to him. The burly fellow kicked the Earthman painfully in the ribs as a warning against any attempts at escape. Abrams remained stoically silent. He was determined not to show fear, sensing that his captors would be contemptuous of any sign of weakness, which would only invite further cruelty.
Varuda, who had seen what had happened, wasn’t about to remain silent. “Asaju,” she harshly called to the captain of the flying machine. “This man saved my life. He is not to be mistreated. I command it.”
The captain, a grizzled and scarred veteran, approached the woman and bowed low to her before speaking. “Kesjani Varuda,” he said respectfully. “If the prisoner does not attempt to escape or cause any trouble, he will not be harmed. That is all I can promise. His ultimate fate will be determined by the Kestar’s mood, and that, of course, will depend on you. My men are warriors, not nursemaids, so I will allow you to tend to his needs. But if you attempt to free him from his bonds, it will go badly for you, and even worse for him.”
“Very well, captain,” she replied, suppressing her anger. “You have my word. Now, command your men to let me pass.”
The order was given. Varuda stepped to Abrams’ side and knelt before him. “Are you badly hurt?” she asked with genuine concern.
“No,” he replied. “And you are far more than the escaped slave you made out to be. I’m unfamiliar with the word ‘Kesjani.’ Is that your title? What is going on?”
Varuda sighed wearily. “I’m truly sorry you have been captured. You saved me, and now I feel that I will be your doom.”
“There is no need for you to feel guilt,” replied Abrams. “Had I foreseen the future, the only thing I would have done differently is wait an hour before departing and thus prevented our capture.”
Varuda smiled in gratitude and continued. “Kesjani is the title given to the daughter of a ruler, whom we call a Kestar. I concealed this from you because I wanted to put that part of my life far behind me. My brother Esktu is the current Kestar of Naxara, our father Tavis having died thirty days ago. I fled the city to escape my brother’s unnatural lust. Now that our father is dead, he is free to indulge in his previously hidden passions. He wants me to become his wife, and this I simply cannot do. I would rather face all the perils of the jungle than share a bed with him. But I underestimated his determination to possess me. I didn’t think he would expend the time and effort on a search.”
For a moment, Abrams stared at her in shocked silence, appalled by the danger she was in. Recovering from his astonishment, the Earthman spoke. “Then set me free,” he whispered, “and I will help you again.”
The girl, although appreciative of the proposal, shook her head vehemently. “I am grateful for your valiant offer. But we have no weapons, and there are ten men aboard this craft, all veteran warriors. We must bide our time and hope a more opportune moment arises.”
The strange aircraft flew swiftly onward, following the course of the river, taking Abrams further and further away from Port Alpha and everything with which he was familiar. An hour had passed when the monotony of the flight was broken. The lookout at the stern shouted and pointed to the east. Heads turned; men gasped in horror. A flying creature as large as their aircraft was swiftly arrowing toward them. The thing was covered in bright feathers of red, yellow, and green, but it wasn’t avian. Its body was serpentine; the head feline. Four swiftly beating wings propelled it through the air with amazing rapidity. Six legs resembling those of a hawk were folded like a bird against its body.
Varuda gasped, her heart racing with alarm. “It’s a quezat,” she cried in horror as Asaju shouted orders to his grim-faced men.
Then the monster was upon them in a whirlwind of violence. It slammed against their craft, clinging to the railing with its claws. The aircraft tilted under the horror’s impact. The lookout tumbled. The monster’s head darted down. The hapless fellow disappeared into its maw, his screams of pain and terror cut off by the crunching of its terrible jaws.
Another warrior had crashed down on Abrams as the pilot fought to right the flyer. Varuda, clinging with one hand to a railing post, snatched the stunned man’s dagger from its sheath and, with it, sliced Abram’s bonds. “Get his sword,” she urged. “We’ll need all hands to fight the quezat.”
The monster bellowed as Abrams grabbed the blade. He saw several archers loose arrows at the creature, but the wobbling deck threw off their aim, and the flying shafts went wide. The quezat struck back. Jets of venom hissed from its gaping maw. Warriors screamed and fell, writhing in agony on the deck, their blistering skin smoking from the vile poisen. The craft righted, and Abrams, suppressing his terror, raced forward. He ducked beneath the horror’s deadly spray and rammed his blade into its feathered neck.
Blood gushed. The quezat howled, convulsed. Its jerking head struck Abrams and sent him crashing to the deck. The thing’s jaws gaped. Varuda screamed. But blood, not venom, jetted from its maw. The quezat’s eyes glazed. Its claws loosened, and it tumbled to the jungle far below, the sword still lodged deeply in its neck.
Varuda rushed to Abram’s side as the Earthman climbed unsteadily to his feet. “Are you hurt?” she cried.
“No,” he replied, his voice a little shaky in the aftermath of the battle.
The couple tensed as Asaju approached. “Your brave actions saved us all,” he said. Then, turning to Varuda. “Kesjani, I will overlook your freeing of the prisoner because of his valiant actions. I have lost five men, so I won’t bind him lest we be attacked again. But both of you must give me your word that you will not attempt to escape.”
The couple readily assented.
Within the passing of another hour, a strange phenomenon appeared in the distance. The air shimmered like a heat haze, distorting to a considerable extent both the sky and jungle with a subtle wavering effect. It caught Abrams’ attention. “What is that?” He curiously asked Varuda.
“It is the Veil,” she replied. “Early in my father’s reign, our seers foresaw the arrival of your people. Word was spread to the twelve cities of the region. Fearing that you might prove hostile, the Veil was developed, and all municipalities are now defensively shrouded. We will soon penetrate the phenomenon, and then you will see.”
The aircraft swiftly drew near the strange distortion. Abrams felt a tingling sensation as the machine passed through the haze, and as it did, the incredible happened. One moment, there was sky above and a riotous jungle below. Then, suddenly, as if by magic, a city appeared where a second ago there had been nothing but an uninhabited wilderness. Abrams gasped in complete amazement. They had passed through a psychically created illusion. It appeared that this metropolis was just one of a number of sources of the mysterious paranormal emanations that had baffled Earth's scientists. No wonder an entire civilization had managed to escape detection.
Thanks to Varuda, Abrams now had a better understanding of her people’s mysterious technology. It was based on psiori crystals. This strange and very rare mineral amplified the powers of the mind to a tremendous degree. The ship he was on was being flown by the young woman sitting at the bow using telekinesis, the psychic force amplified by the circlet she was wearing, and he correctly deduced that the barrier of invisibility was created by a similar means.
Abrams, despite his perilous situation as a prisoner, took an interest in the riverside metropolis as they drew near to it. He saw that the buildings of the bustling city were laid out in an orderly grid of tree-lined streets and broad avenues that divided the habitation into residential areas, marketplaces, and administrative complexes.
The architecture of the homes of the wealthy, government buildings, and temples reminded him of the Art Deco style, showcasing intricate geometric designs in a plethora of majolica tiles in vivacious yellows, blues, and greens, along with pinks and reds, while more passive hues included beiges and creams, as well as black and white. These grand structures were built around an open courtyard garden that provided light and air to their interiors. The homes of the commoners were rather plain by comparison; however, the overall impression that Abrams received was of a city of grandeur and complexity, marked by its impressive structures and rich cultural life.
The strange aircraft in which he rode passed over the waterfront docks, where many merchant sailing ships resembling Chinese junks were moored. Looking down, he saw gangs of stevedores loading and unloading cargo in a bustle of industrious activity, indicating that Naxara was the hub of trade for this region of the Achulian continent.
“There is the palace,” said Varuda, seeing his keen interest. “And there awaits my perverse brother,” she grimly added. “Do not cause trouble. I will emphasize your bravery, your strength, and how you saved me from your countryman and again from the quezat. Esktu will appreciate that. He admires strong and valiant men. Perhaps he will offer you the position of a warrior in his army. If so, accept it and swear whatever oath he demands.”
Abrams nodded. He had taken quite a liking to the girl. During the hours of their flight, they had engaged in lengthy conversations on many topics. He found the Kesjani to be an intelligent and surprisingly down to earth person, very easy to talk to rather than the snobbish type one might expect a royal to be, and he was loath to see her become the victim of an evil degenerate.
“If I gain some measure of freedom, I’ll do all I can to aid you,” Abrams sincerely promised. “You have helped me, and I am not ungrateful for your kindness and good advice.”
“Careful what you say,” she cautioned. “The guards are still watching us.”
Both fell silent as the ship winged its way toward the palace complex at the heart of the vibrant metropolis. Soon, they were above the seat of the royal government. The center of power was a walled city within a city, its buildings of unsurpassed grandeur and richly embellished with shining gold and glittering gemstones. The machine settled in a courtyard garden of exotic plants displaying all the hues of the rainbow.
“Do not attempt to escape,” warned Asaju as they prepared to disembark. “You and the Kesjani will be taken to the presence of the Kestar. Bow low and be respectful if you wish to live.”
Abrams remained silent. He wasn’t about to make any further promises, for who knew what might happen and what he might be forced to do.
They exited the craft and were escorted under guard through the garden’s colonnade and into the sprawling building, one warrior racing ahead to announce their arrival. The palace was light and airy, thanks to its many courtyards. The mosaic floors were wondrous works of art, as were the numerous frescoes that adorned the sumptuous hallways they traversed. Shortly, they arrived at the throne room of the palace, a chamber of rich exuberance with its floor of green serpentine and impressive ornamental columns of black Marquina marble, whose floral capitals had been artfully gilded.
Against a wall was a dais, and on it was an ornate throne carved from an enormous piece of amethyst. On the throne sat a handsome man clad in a white, kilt-like garment decorated with gemstone beads of rubies and emeralds, his rank denoted by the gold and opal circlet that he wore. By his side was a scribe taking notes, and in front of him were his ministers with whom he was discussing affairs of state. All this, however, had been put on hold at the arrival of the party.
Immediately, upon seeing their entrance to the room, the Kestar leapt from his throne with exuberance. He rushed down the dais’s stairs and embraced his sister. Varuda stiffened in his arms as he grabbed her shapely buttocks in a most unbrotherly manner.
“Varuda,” he cried with genuine concern. “Why did you run away into the wilderness? You could have died out there. I was sick with worry.” Then the movement of Abrams bowing low as instructed caught his eye, and an angry scowl darkened his smiling countenance.
“What is this?” He furiously cried. “A human by the looks of it.” Then to Asaju. “Why did you bring him here? He should have been slain to keep our existence secret. By the gods, I’ll have your head for this.”
“I ordered that he be kept alive,” Varuda quickly intervened. “He saved my life.” She then recounted the circumstances of her rescue and Abrams’ heroic battle with the quezat. “He is a brave and able man,” concluded the Kesjani. “He would make an excellent warrior, which you need if your plans for conquest are to succeed.”
“True,” replied Esktu, thoughtfully. “Very well, I do owe this man something for saving you. Dojat,” he called to one of the warriors in the throne room. “You are commander of the palace guard and a most skilled swordsman. Engage the human in a duel and let it be to the death. The winner will receive a hundred gold neshteki as the prize.”
Varuda gasped. “Esktu,” she cried in outrage. “This is no reward. This is a death sentence. Dojat is a master of the blade.”
“My dear sister,” replied Esktu with a malicious grin. “You forget, as Kestar, my word is law. If I say it is a reward, then it is a reward. Besides, I wish to test the fellow’s mettle to see if he is worthy of employment. If this human is half the man you claim he is, it will be an even match.” Then, looking at Abrams, “Unless you are mistaken and the fellow is too cowardly to accept the challenge. If so, then I’ll send him to the mines as a worthless slave.”
“I accept,” answered Abrams grimly, nettled by Esktu’s implication that he was craven and knowing that, as a chattel in the distant mines, it would be impossible for him to aid Varuda.
“Very well,” replied Esktu, pleased at the thought of bloodshed. “Let a space be cleared and bring a sword for the human. Let the duel commence when he is armed.”
The command was swiftly carried out, and in but a moment, Abrams was tensely facing his powerful opponent. The Kestar raised his arm. He brought it swiftly down in a chopping motion, and the mortal fight was on.
A wild shout burst from Dojat. He lunged with all the rapid ferocity of a pouncing tiger. But thanks to his training, Abrams was no novice with the sword. He parried the darting blade and countered with equal speed and fury. The combatants’ swords fiercely clashed. Sparks flew from contending blades and sweat from straining bodies as each rained savage blows on the other with unrestrained ferocity.
They danced about the chamber in a wild waltz, cutting, thrusting, and parrying in a fierce display of martial prowess. Dojat’s face was grim. He had met his equal with the blade, at the very least, and his opponent seemed to have far more stamina. The fear of death made him desperate. Swiftly, he drew his dagger with his left hand and hurled it at the Earthman in a cunning throw. The flying blade struck Abrams in the shoulder. The Earthman gasped in pain. He dropped his sword. Varuda screamed in fear as Dojat quickly struck, a wild victory cry erupting from his throat in savage triumph.
Chapter 3: Betrayal
As Dojat lunged with the swiftness of a striking serpent, Abrams managed to leap aside, and the thrusting sword scored a shallow cut across his arm. The Earthman lashed out with a brutal kick. His foot slammed into Dojat’s knee. The man screamed and crashed to the floor, incapacitated by the swift and savage blow. Abrams quickly scooped up his groaning opponent’s sword and stood ready to defend himself if necessary.
“The human has won,” announced Esktu to all those present. Then to Abrams harshly. “Kill Dojat. His defeat at your hands proves he is unworthy to be commander of the palace guard. I do not tolerate either weakness or incompetence.”
Abrams, however, had no desire to kill his vanquished opponent. He saw that the Kestar was a psychopath who treated people like pieces on a game board, and the Earthman felt more sympathy than hatred for Dojat.
“Your majesty,” he said, a plan forming in his mind. “The reward of a hundred gold neshteki that you promised; may I exchange that for this man’s life as my slave?”
Esktu grinned savagely. He liked to toy with people, and here was an opportunity that his sick mind couldn’t pass up. “That is an excellent idea. Death is too quick for that fool. Let him be degraded from nobility to slavery. Furthermore, I now make you commander of the palace guard. Dojat can teach you all you need to know. But be warned, if you betray me, or if you prove incompetent, then death in the arena shall be your fate.”
Abrams bowed low in seeming acknowledgment of the supposed honor. But the Earthman was no fool. Esktu knew he was inexperienced and that Dojat would be an unwilling teacher. Insightfully, Abrams realized that the Kestar was setting him up for failure. It was the type of sick game that he liked to play. But the Earthman was determined to disappoint his loathsome enemy.
**********
Several weeks had gone by. Preparations for the wedding of Esktu and Varuda were underway, for the Kestar was eager to marry his sister and enjoy the fruits of conjugal pleasure. Of course, Esktu, being the type of man that he was, meant Varuda had no say at all in the matter. Abrams knew he was fast running out of time to save the girl from an evil fate. Part of his plan had been successful. He had saved Dojat, and although the man was his slave, Abrams treated him as an equal, something Esktu, being the sadist that he was, hadn’t expected him to do.
At first Dojat had been wary and resentful. Fortunately, Abrams’ respectful and kind treatment of him had gradually won him over to the point where the Earthman felt he had an ally of sorts. But of course, he kept his plan to rescue Varuda a secret. As yet, Abrams wasn’t sure he could trust the man that far. Dojat’s knowledge of the palace and its functioning, however, had proven invaluable in the formulation of his daring plan.
It was now nighttime, and Abrams was putting his scheme into action. He was walking along the hallway toward Varuda’s apartment, his pace quickening with anticipation at their meeting, for absence makes the heart grow fonder, and the thought of seeing her after weeks of separation aroused excitement within every fiber of his being. He forced the pleasant but interfering distraction down and soon arrived at the entrance to her rooms. The ornate door was guarded by a sleepy warrior who sprang swiftly to attention upon the Earthman’s approach.
“Tovas,” he said harshly to the sentry. “You know the penalty for falling asleep while on duty. This is the Kesjani you’re guarding, not a storeroom of vegetables. Do you want to face the beasts of the arena?”
The man paled. “No, Commander,” he gasped. “I swear by all the gods, it won’t happen again.”
Abrams stroked his chin in thought as he glared at the sweating, frightened man. “All right,” he said after the dramatic pause. “This time I’ll be merciful and won’t report you to the Kestar. But I can’t risk you falling asleep, so I’ll take your place until your relief arrives. Now, get out of here, and if you wish to live, don’t say anything about this to anyone.”
Abrams hid his grin as the relieved guard hurriedly left. Thanks to Dojat, the Earthman knew all the strengths and weaknesses of the palace guard under his command and, as part of his plan, had arranged for the narcoleptic Tovas to be on duty at this hour.
When the guard turned the corner of the hallway, which seemed to take an age, Abrams eagerly pulled the bell cord by the door to announce his presence. His impatient wait was short, for soon a sleepy maidservant opened the door, and Abrams spoke softly to the girl. “I need to see the Kesjani. It is most urgent. May I come in?”
“Let him pass, Marda,” said a voice.
Abrams quickly entered the room, the girl closing the door behind him. Varuda was lying on a kind of chaise longue, reading by the light of an oil lamp, and his heart beat faster at the sight of her enchanting smile. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I’ve too many unpleasant thoughts in my head. Marda,”she continued, addressing the maidservant, “you may leave us.”
When the girl had left the room, Abrams excitedly knelt beside Varuda. “We are getting out of here tonight,” he whispered urgently. “I have gained instruction in flying. Disguise yourself as best as you can. I have a small two-person craft concealed in a nearby courtyard. Our best chance of escape is by air.”
Varuda placed her hand on his shoulder, and her touch was like heady wine to his senses. “You risk much for me,” the Kesjani said with feeling, then eagerly rose from the lounge. “I won’t be long,” she concluded as she quickly stepped into another room. A moment later, Varuda returned wearing a colorful paper mache mask and nothing else, much to Abrams' considerable open-mouthed surprise.
“My brother keeps exotic prostitutes from distant Thuva in another wing of the palace. They are for his pleasure and that of other important persons,” she explained. “This is how they dress so all will know their profession. I stole this mask as part of my original escape plan, but I never used it. No one will suspect that I would be this daring. Marda is asleep. Let’s away.”
Both cautiously and nervously exited the Kesjani’s apartment. The hallway beyond was deserted. It was late at night, and the palace was largely asleep. Varuda took his hand. She placed his arm around her and his fingers on her naked breast. He felt her nipple swell at his touch, and experienced a similar reaction.
“This will look more natural should someone see us,” she explained a little breathlessly.
The couple moved on; the intimate contact with the girl taxed Abrams’ ability to remain focused. They were about halfway down the corridor when guards rushed from an intersecting passage to furiously intercept them, Esktu, eyes glaring, in the lead. Abrams swore. He swiftly drew two small glass spheres from his belt pouch and hurled both at the foe. The globes shattered on a warrior’s breastplate. Billowing, putrid smoke erupted as the liquid contents of the spheres reacted with one another. It was a kind of stink bomb Abrams had made with chemicals stolen from the palace’s apothecary.
“Quickly, this way,” the Earthman said to his companion as their foes, blinded by the billowing, putrid vapors, milled about in nauseous and cursing confusion.
The couple dashed madly down another hallway, then across a courtyard and along a colonnaded path. They burst through a gate and into a walled garden where a flyer rested on the starlit sward. The machine resembled a kayak with skids as landing gear. The escapees swiftly leapt aboard. Abrams jammed the circlet on his head as the pursuing guards poured through the gate in a wild rush. The vessel lifted as the device amplified the latent telekinetic powers of the Earthman’s brain.
Esktu swore viciously. He hurled a throwing knife at Abrams, but the rapidly rising craft outpaced the flying blade and swiftly vanished into the midnight sky to be lost among the stars. The small craft shot across the heavens. Abrams grinned. He could sense the planet’s magnetic field and rode it like a surfer. He had narrowly escaped vicious enemies with a naked woman who was looming larger and larger in his affection. But within fifteen minutes, the exhilarating experience was quickly shattered by Varuda’s warning cry.
“Another flyer is approaching from behind and quickly gaining on us.”
Abrams’ face turned grim. He concentrated, willing his craft to greater speed with all his concentration. But the pilot of the pursuing vessel was more experienced, and the distance between them shrank with alarming rapidity. The desperate Earthman swerved his flyer, but the tenacious foe clung to his stern like a shadow. A huge crossbow mounted on the bow of the enemy twanged. Varuda cried in fright as Abrams’ craft shuddered when the harpoon-like projectile struck. Then a hand-powered winch began to reel them in like a hooked fish, and within moments, the Earthman’s flyer was hauled aboard the larger craft.
Abrams, a wild and desperate look in his eyes, leaped from his vessel, sword ready to deal swift and violent death. Although he was quickly surrounded, the frantic Earthman would have fought like a cornered tiger to the bitter end in a wild effort to defend Varuda. But the Kesjani, who had joined him, placed a restraining hand on his arm.
“There are too many,” she warned. “Do not sacrifice yourself on my account. As long as we are alive, hope remains.”
Esktu stepped forward from among his warriors. He glared at Varuda, his burly body stiff with wild rage. “Remove your mask,” he cried in a sharp command.
The Kesjani complied and stared at her brother in silent, resolute defiance.
The Kestar swore. “This is too much,” he cried hotly. “First, you run away to the wilderness, and now you attempt to flee again, disguised as a brazen whore and with a filthy and treacherous commoner who has no doubt become your dirty lover. Have you no shame?”
Then, glaring at Abrams, “Betrayer,” he shouted, “I reward you with the position of commander of the palace guard, and this is how you show your gratitude? Did you think me a complete fool? That I would not have your every move carefully watched?” Again, the Kestar violently cursed. Then to his warriors, “When we land, take these traitors to the dungeon. Tomorrow, they die in the arena.”
**********
Abrams stood on the arena’s floor, Varuda by his side. The Earthman gazed at the murmuring crowd that packed the stadium, forced to witness the coming spectacle by royal decree. Their mood was one of restless agitation for a variety of reasons. It was widely suspected among the population that Esktu was planning an unprovoked attack on the other city-states in the region. Civilians were being impressed into the army against their will, and workshops were churning out weapons. No other nation was threatening Naxara. There was no need for this buildup of military might. No one wanted to see their sons being sent off to die in a war whose sole purpose was to satisfy the lust for power of one cruel and ruthless psychopath.
Now, adding to the population’s discontent was the condemnation of Varuda to death in the arena. This was a fate reserved for the worst kinds of criminals. But the Kesjani was well-known and admired for her charitable work among the poor. Clearly, she was no evil felon to be savagely torn apart by a wild beast in what would be a gross and cruel injustice. Esktu’s bloated arrogance, however, had caused him to delusionally believe that, as Kestar, he could do whatever he liked with impunity and to hell with public opinion.
Abrams looked at Varuda. Like him, she was clearly frightened by the thought of her fate, but her fear was under control, as was his. Neither of them was armed. They were both naked and completely defenseless before the horror that was going to be unleashed upon them. He took her hand and squeezed it. A gong sounded, cutting off the words he wanted to say. The murmuring crowd fell sullenly silent. Esktu spoke in the quiet.
“Varuda,” he said. “You have been condemned to death for conspiring with an enemy of the realm. I am, however, prepared to be merciful. Agree to my proposal, and you will be spared. This is your last chance.”
The Kesjani, standing near the royal box with Abrams, spoke in a steady, clear voice that carried throughout the arena as she squeezed his hand in acknowledgment of his comforting presence. “I think that death between the jaws of a slavering beast is more preferable to being the sexual plaything of my own perverse brother. If I am to die, then I am glad it is by the side of a true man. That is all I have to say.”
The crowd began to murmur, shocked by this startling revelation, for although not comfortable with the incestuous marriage, they had been led to believe Varuda had consented to it. Esktu’s countenance grew wrathful; he raised his hand. The gong rang out, silencing the restless throng. “If that is your final answer, then so be it,” he shouted furiously.
The clanking of machinery drew Abram’s gaze to the far end of the arena. A gate had swung open, and from the black mouth of an archway lumbered a beast of fearsome appearance. With its single horn and body shape, the creature resembled a rhino. Its gray skin, however, was heavily scaled, and its head was crocodilian in appearance.
The eyes of the sithis, alive with feral rage, focused on its victims. The creature pawed the arena’s sand, snorting angrily as it prepared to charge - 7000 pounds of fearsome bone and muscle. The situation seemed hopeless; then a concealable, telescopic spear landed at Abrams’ feet. He eagerly snatched it up and extended it, swiftly locking its segments into place. The crowd cheered. The Earthman looked up. Esktu was on his feet, shouting orders, his expression wild. But Dojat, who had cast the concealable weapon from the stands, had melted into the crowd, and from the cheering, was unlikely to be betrayed by the throng.
Varuda cried in warning. “It’s charging,” she shouted.
Abrams turned to see the sithis bearing down upon them. The sight of its hurtling form was terrifying, but he mastered his fear, Varuda’s presence infusing him with unquenchable determination. A wild and desperate plan formed in the Earthman’s mind. To the astonishment of Varuda and the gasping crowd, he charged at the savage beast.
As Abrams sped toward the rushing sithis, he knew success or failure depended on his nerve and timing. The distance rapidly closed. The beast lowered its horn. Varuda pressed her knuckles to her lips in wild fear.
Abrams leaped with all his might, using the spear in the manner of a pole vaulter. The horn jerked up like a disemboweling blade. It scraped his thigh as he passed over it. Abrams landed on the creature’s back. He slipped and fell, but he managed to grab one of the scaly projections jutting from its spine while retaining his grip on his weapon with the other hand. The sithis went mad. It spun in a circle, trying to gore him with its deadly horn. The crowd had risen to its feet. The Earthman was hanging on for dear life. Muscles aching, he hauled himself onto the creature’s bucking back and thrust at its turned head with his spear.
He missed, cursed and stabbed again. The sithis bellowed as the point pierced its eye. It fell. Abrams flung himself clear, barely avoiding being crushed by its monstrous weight. He sprang erect as the wounded beast struggled to its feet, then dashed forward to its blind side and plunged his spear deeply into its damaged eye. The well-honed point penetrated the sithis’ brain, and the horrid creature collapsed to the ground.
The spectators cheered wildly, but the danger wasn’t over. The beast was dead, but Esktu was still alive and furiously screaming lethal commands. Guards were swiftly moving to control the excited crowd, while others were hurrying down the stairs that led to the arena floor. Abrams jerked his weapon free and raced toward the royal box, nimbly dodging the spears the Kestar’s bodyguards were viciously hurling at him. With a wild cry, the Earthman cast his weapon in a mighty throw as Esktu turned to flee, and the flashing spear struck him squarely in the back.
The Kestar shrieked. He stumbled backward, tumbled over the railing, and plunged to the arena floor to lie in a dead and broken heap on the sand. Silence fell upon the crowd as they absorbed the import of the act. The hated dictator was dead; his rule of tyranny had ended. With a mighty roar, the throng turned on the royal guards. Surging forward like a raging sea, they tore them down, overwhelming them with sheer numbers.
Fists crashed against skulls, feet stomped on heads, and avenging hands found throats to mercilessly strangle. The corpses of these instruments of oppression were then passed by eager hands to the edge of the arena and gleefully cast upon its sandy floor to join their dead master in the darkness of eternity.
**********
Six months had passed. The madness of the arena was long over, and Varuda was now Kestara - the rightful and uncontested ruler of Naxar. Abrams lay in bed with her, gazing thoughtfully at the face of his sleeping partner. With the end of constant danger, the couple had been able to get to know each other much better, and mere attraction had grown into a deep, abiding love.
But Abrams was more than just her lover. Varuda, in consultation with the rulers of the twelve cities of the region, had decided to reveal themselves to Port Alpha’s humans, for such mighty kingdoms couldn’t remain hidden forever, and Abrams would be their trusted advisor in this matter. The Earthman was eager to devote himself to the task, which was still in its planning stage. Both groups could learn much from each other, and he was happy to facilitate this contact and help ensure that Naxarans and the other indigenous peoples of the planet were not exploited by fortune seekers such as Ian Richards, the debased man he had saved Varuda from.
The Kestara opened her eyes and smiled at him as she languorously stretched. “You’re thinking about something,” she said. “I know by that earnest look you’re wearing. What is it?”
“About the future, about us and our people,” he replied. “Problems undoubtedly lie ahead, and I’m attempting to proactively anticipate them.”
“Life is challenging,” Varuda admitted. “But to paraphrase your own words: we must cross those bridges when we come to them. It’s too early in the morning for such worries. You’re in bed with a naked woman. Can’t you think of something else to do?”
Abrams laughed and passionately showed her that he could, and very well, indeed.
The End