Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: Nathaniel Blackstone, a pilot for the human research stations located on the world of Sekhet, finds himself in more than just a slight degree of difficulty when his transporter crash lands in the territory of a hostile tribe. Action and adventure abound in this exciting tale set in an exotic and mysterious world
Chapter 1: Crash Landing
Nathaniel Blackstone stood in the strange arena under the alien glare of a giant crimson sun, facing a brutal death at the hands of a monstrous, scaly warrior. The young man, a pilot by profession, could never have envisioned, even in his wildest imaginings, that he would ever find himself in the situation cruel fate had cast upon him. It had all begun several days ago. He had set out on a routine flight, ferrying equipment and supplies from the small spaceport in the Desert of Shadows to the paleontologists at Research Station No. 3, one of five bases on this world of Sekhet - the name the indigenous humanoids gave their planet.
Sekhet was a harsh world, a dying world, ancient and mysterious. Once, perhaps a million years ago, a bygone but advanced civilization thrived on what was then a more fertile globe. But even in those remote days, now long gone, the aliens knew their world was slowly dying - the atmosphere thinning, the life-giving waters of the seas relentlessly evaporating.
A massive worldwide engineering project had been undertaken by the Ancients. Mighty globe-spanning canals were dug from the Polar Sea, the largest of the oceans, channeling its waters to the equatorial canal that girdled Sekhet with its astounding immensity. It had taken an age to build, and for an aeon, disaster was averted as the life-giving, desalinated water irrigated the parched land.
But death, whether it is of living beings or entire worlds, can only ever be delayed. The waters of the last ocean - the Polar Sea - slowly diminished. The deserts encroached. Famine ravaged the land. Then came war and the final collapse of civilization. Those few who survived descended into savagery and forgot their glorious past as cities crumbled to dust and were buried by the shifting sands of the all-encompassing deserts. Now, only the mile wide and mile deep canals remained, the last refuge of life, their abyssal bottoms choked with wild vegetation and inhabited by savages, remote descendants of the Ancients - barbarians in whose cruel clutches Blackstone now found himself.
The transporter he had been piloting from the spaceport to Earth Research Station No. 3 had experienced a malfunction mid-journey, forcing him to make an emergency landing at latitude 1o.51’ North and longitude 156o.20’ West, placing him right in the middle of a canal. He had touched down hard at the very edge of the water, the onboard fire forcing him to leave the ship swiftly with only the clothes he was wearing.
Blackstone had sprinted away from the burning craft, fear lending swiftness to his racing feet as he barged madly through the velvety black vegetation of serrated leaves. If the fire reached the power core before he was far enough away, he’d be caught in the devastating explosion.
His frantic prayers were of no avail. The spreading flames reached the core. The circuitry melted. The containment field collapsed. Actinic light flared, and the blast struck him with all the force of an enraged giant’s fist. The terrifying sound brutally tore apart the quiet. He was tumbled over in a wild kaleidoscopic swirl of sky and earth. The ground rose up in a rush and hit him with the force of a brutal body blow, and he knew no more.
**********
A painful poke in the ribs with the butt of a spear roused Blackstone to consciousness. The Earthman was surrounded by twelve huge aliens, their skin as dark and glossy as polished onyx. Tall, muscular, scaled humanoids stared at him with a mixture of suspicion and rage stamped on their angular features, their blocky hands fiercely gripping their paddle-shaped clubs made of skoron, a dense hardwood. Blackstone went cold with fear under the unwavering gaze of the beings’ yellow serpentine eyes. By the symbols carved on the large wooden medallions that they wore, he knew these were warriors of Shadora, perhaps the most feared tribe in the region. No doubt, the sound of the explosion had drawn the patrol to investigate the thunderous noise.
“I come in peace,” he nervously said in Ekon, the universal language of the planet. “My flying ship caught fire, and I was forced to land. “Release me, and I will gladly leave your territory without violence and with all haste.”
The leader of the patrol, the tallest and most muscular of the beings, spoke in a cold, sibilant voice. “We have informed your people of our laws. We accept no excuses. You are in our territory uninvited and will suffer the consequences.” Then, to the warriors under his command: “Seize this creature. We will take him to Shadora. He will die in the arena for the crime of trespassing.”
Blackstone was roughly grabbed and hauled to his feet. He didn’t resist. He was outnumbered, and his adversaries were armed, a sharp contrast to his defenseless state. An escape attempt at this moment would be suicidal. His captors roughly manhandled him through the dense, jet-black foliage to the water’s edge, where a huge dugout canoe was moored. He was forced aboard. The warriors took up their paddles after the canoe was cast off, and the vessel glided across the shallow, sluggish water under the impetus of their powerful strokes.
As the jungle-like vegetation festooning the banks of the mighty canal slid by, Blackstone contemplated his fate, struggling to remain calm, for he knew that panicking wouldn’t help. He reviewed what he knew about his captors. The Shadorans, like all the other ethnic groups of Sekhet, were trapped in a perpetual Stone Age. The Ancients had depleted their world’s resources. The globe’s ore deposits had been exhausted, along with fossil fuels. The Ancients possessed nuclear power, but even this resource was eventually consumed entirely. The planet had been left impoverished. There was no foundation for the reemergence of an advanced metal-based industrial civilization.
Life was a struggle in this harsh world. Most of the plant and animal life was toxic. The lush, jungle-like growth of the canals was deceptive. The majority of it was inedible, even to the planet’s humanoids. Conflict among the various groups was endemic. The only saving grace was that military action, unlike in the distant past, was now largely ritualistic, more like a deadly game rather than the all-out savagery characteristic of Earth’s numerous wars.
The warriors of opposing cities, usually no more than a hundred to a side, would form a line about 20 yards apart. Then they would proceed to hurl insults at each other, working themselves up into a battle rage until one broke ranks and charged the foe, with the rest following like a pack of wild dogs. Alternatively, the king of one city could challenge the monarch of another metropolis to a duel or some other undertaking that would be a deadly test of strength and courage. Despite the largely ritualistic nature of violence, cruelty was still very much in evidence among these people, as exemplified by the deadly punishment Blackstone was facing.
All attempts by humans to reach out to the suspicious natives had been rebuffed. The first contact team had managed to learn the language and a few of their customs, but that was about it. The locals wanted nothing to do with mankind, whom their warrior culture considered weak and inferior. As long as Earthmen stayed in the barren desert regions, well away from the canals, the natives were prepared to tolerate their presence. Blackstone knew he was on his own. No one would come to his aid. Earth’s laws were very strict. Local customs and laws, no matter how barbaric and unjust, must be respected. The days when colonial powers could impose their culture’s values on an indigenous population had long passed.
With this foremost in his mind, Blackstone gazed over the side of the canoe. He wasn’t bound, but two warriors were guarding him - one in front of him and the other behind. The canoe wasn’t far from the shore. If he were quick enough, he might be able to leap overboard and swim to the bank before his captors could stop him. It was a risky move, but his self-defense training was only basic, and his chances of survival were likely far greater than if he faced a professional warrior in ruthless gladiatorial combat.
Just as he was about to gather his strength for the desperate move, a strange shape darted beneath the hull of the dugout. Blackstone froze at the sight. The creature, brownish-green in color, resembled an unsettling blend of squid and crustacean. Its body, sheathed in an exoskeleton, was an elongated, thorny cone. Long, multi-jointed, insect-like legs protruded from its base, and six black compound eyes encircled its farther end. Its total length must have been at least 12 feet.
The creature swiftly turned and arrowed back toward the craft with savage intent. A Shadoran warrior, also seeing it, shouted a wild warning. The monster sped up toward the canoe. Its many-jointed limbs burst from the water. Some gripped the vessel; others struck savagely at its crew. Blackstone ducked beneath a darting limb. The creature’s envenomed claws struck the warrior behind him. The being screamed and fell. The frantic Earthman grabbed the dead Shadoran’s club and struck the creature’s threatening limb with desperate strength, battering it aside.
All around him, warriors were engaged in a brutal battle, hammering the monster’s groping limbs with savage fury. But the creature was sheathed in an exoskeleton as hard as medieval armor, and the defenders’ wild blows were largely ineffectual. Again, Blackstone battered aside another darting, thorny limb. The canoe was rocking wildly, threatening to capsize. The Earthman knew they had but moments before the danger was tremendously compounded. An idea swiftly came to mind. Blackstone seized the body of the warrior who had been killed, and with strength fueled by a rush of empowering adrenaline, he hurled it overboard.
The mighty splash drew the monster. The creature sensed the corpse and hungrily pursued the body as it sank into the murky depths of the vast canal. The danger had passed, but another potential threat quickly took its place. Blackstone tensed as he felt the serpentine eyes of all the warriors focused on him. Had he desecrated the corpse of their fellow being by sacrificing it to the ravenous creature in a desperate bid to save them? Would they seek revenge? The nervous Earthman sweated in the tense silence, which seemed to stretch for an eternity. Then, without the slightest comment, the enigmatic warriors took up their paddles, and the craft continued on its way.
With the passing of about an hour, Blackstone had his first close-up sight of Shadora. The ochre city of sun-dried mud-brick buildings was built along the banks of the canal, its saffron-hued structures rising dramatically from the black, velvety vegetation surrounding the settlement. The habitation was enclosed by soaring defensive walls, and the tall clusters of tower houses, some up to seven stories high, were arranged in a dense, contiguous conglomeration, divided here and there by narrow fortified streets and squares.
The dugout’s hull grated on the pebbly beach. Captive and captors disembarked, and Blackstone was forced toward the city’s narrow gate nestled between two huge towers. Despite the peril he was in, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the exotic metropolis he was on the verge of entering - the first human to ever do so. They passed through the heavily guarded entrance and into the crowded, claustrophobic streets. Instantly, the Earthman became the focus of hundreds of hostile, serpentine eyes. For a second, his steps faltered under the unnerving gaze of the alien beings; then he firmly grasped his courage and continued on with stoic resolve.
Soon, they arrived at the city’s amphitheater, where condemned criminals and prisoners of war were put to death for the gory entertainment of the bloodthirsty population. They passed through the nondescript service entrance at the rear of the circular mud-brick structure. Blackstone was forced down narrow stairs and cast into one of the many dingy holding cells beneath the building. The timber door was slammed behind him, plunging him into darkness to await an even darker fate.
**********
The roar of the arena’s crowd brought Blackstone back to the present. The gate at the far end of the stadium had opened, and out of it strode a mighty reptilian warrior, his glossy black scales glistening in the harsh sunlight. He waved to the throng, acknowledging their shouted accolades, then turned his gaze upon the tensely waiting Earthman, his yellow eyes reflecting his unconcealed contempt for the puny human who stood before him.
Blackstone watched nervously as the huge, scaly fellow began to stamp his feet and beat his small, circular shield with the heavy club gripped in his taloned hand, egged on by the roaring spectators. The Earthman knew his opponent was working himself up into a berserker rage that characterized the fighting style of the Shadorans - a wild rush, all brawn and fury, that would overwhelm an opponent in a tidal wave of unrestrained violence.
The warrior’s eyes stared with crazed fury. His teeth gnashed, saliva dribbling from his mouth. The fellow threw his head back, a feral bellow bursting from his throat. He charged at Blackstone like a demented bull, his heavy club raised to crush his puny foe.
Chapter 2: A Dangerous Game
As the huge warrior rushed wildly at Blackstone, the Earthman knew he had no chance of surviving the attack if he went toe to toe with his monstrous opponent. At the last possible moment, Blackstone leaped aside. The whistling club missed him by a fraction of an inch. It smashed with a mighty crack against the arena’s floor with such force that the Earthman could feel the vibrations through his soles.
Blackstone leapt in close and swung his club. It smacked against the warrior’s side, but his opponent’s scaled hide was far tougher than human skin, and despite the Earthman’s strength, the powerful blow was as harmless as a slap. If anything, the stinging strike only served to further enrage Blackstone’s barbarous antagonist. The hulking brute roared and swung another wild blow that the Earthman barely dodged.
Around the arena, the combatants raced, the huge humanoid chasing his more agile opponent, roaring in fury that he couldn’t crush this annoying insect. Blackstone was tiring; he wasn’t a trained fighter and knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Again, the desperate Earthman ducked a wide swing that would have crushed his skull to pulp. He lunged and slammed his club against his opponent's knee. The warrior went down with a roar but regained his feet before Blackstone could press his advantage.
The Earthman leaped swiftly out of reach of the coming counterstrike. But then he saw something odd. His opponent staggered, swayed, and fell to his knees. The roaring crowd fell silent. Blackstone seized the moment. His club cracked against the fellow’s skull. The giant warrior collapsed. He fell face down and lay deathly still. Murmurs of disbelief and consternation swept through the shocked spectators. This wasn’t the outcome that the crowd had anticipated.
Blackstone, breathing heavily, his limbs trembling from fatigue, couldn’t believe it either. He approached his downed opponent and knelt next to him. The fellow was unaccountably dead. It couldn’t have been from his attack - the hasty blow he had delivered had been a glancing strike of insufficient strength to kill. Then the Earthman noticed something odd. The warrior’s club had fallen from his hand, and from it came a strange, acrid odor. Blackstone knew that the human sense of smell was more acute than that of the indigenous humanoids. In an instant, he realized the shocking truth. His opponent’s weapon had been smeared with a subtle contact poison that was undetectable to a native of the planet. Someone had wanted his antagonist dead, but why?
Blackstone's puzzled thoughts were interrupted by figures approaching from the gateway at the far end of the arena, the same one his erstwhile foe had strode through so confidently only minutes earlier. The Earthman tensed as the trio drew near, his knuckles whitening on his club as he wondered if dark revenge was their foul intent. He relaxed a little when the leader of the group bowed low.
“I will escort you to Queen Naxara,” explained the humanoid as he pointed to an arena balcony on the lowest tier of the structure. “Her Majesty will explain the implications of your unexpected victory.”
Seeing that he had no choice, Blackstone followed his escort. Glancing briefly over his shoulder, he saw one of the humanoids quickly wrap his deceased opponent’s club in a thick cloth in such a way that his hands didn’t make contact with the poisoned weapon, while the other slung the corpse across his broad shoulder. The Earthman nodded grimly to himself. There was a sinister plot afoot, and he was right in the middle of it.
Blackstone followed his guide through the gateway at the far end of the arena, then up a flight of stairs and along a series of passageways, the final one debouching onto the balcony where Queen Naxara stood, her back to the timber balustrade. The Earthman gasped in amazement. It was the first time any human had been so near to a female native of the planet.
There was considerable sexual dimorphism between the native men and women, so much so that, for a moment, the amazed Earthman thought Naxara was from an entirely different species. The queen’s scales, unlike those of the males, were very small and smooth. Indeed, they were barely noticeable, even when close up. Her features, though angular, were not as sharp or as harsh as the menfolk. She had large, well-formed breasts, which indicated her physiology wasn’t entirely reptilian. Her sensuous lips were a vivid yellow, as were the areolas of her bare breasts. Her vulva was also yellow, but unlike her breasts, it was concealed by the very short leather skirt that she wore. She returned the Earthman’s stare of wide-eyed wonder with contempt.
“I find it difficult to believe that a puny human managed to slay my husband, the king,” she spat, her voice deep and resonant. “But my eyes do not betray me, and so I must acknowledge this distasteful truth.”
“Your husband?” gasped Blackstone, shocked by the enormity of what had happened and expecting death by torture at the wrathful hands of the dead king's avenging widow.
“Yes,” she said, reading his expression. “I would like to kill you, but our laws prevent it. You have slain Axbar, my husband, and, being the victor, you inherit his title and his property, which includes me.”
“But that’s absurd,” blurted Blackstone. “I know nothing about being a king. All I want is to return alive and unharmed to my own people.”
“The law is often absurd, but that does not change the fact that it is the law,” she replied harshly. “In this matter, neither your desires nor mine count for anything. My only hope is that another Shadoran warrior will challenge you and slay you, thus ending the degrading requirement to be bound to you, you puny and pathetic creature.
“However, until that happens, for the sake of my people, I will guide you in the art of governance. I suggest you heed my advice.” Then to her chief advisor, the man who had guided Blackstone to her presence: “Baruk, take this creature to the royal suite and see to its needs.” Turning to the shocked Earthman: “I will join you later after the funeral rites for my husband have been completed. We have much to discuss.”
**********
It was early evening. Blackstone had been alone all day. He stood looking out of the window of the royal suite that occupied the topmost level of the tallest tower in the city. The clay floor of the apartment had been treated with zurim oil, giving it the look of lacquered leather. The mud-brick walls were plastered and painted with vibrant scenes of battle in a primitive, dramatic style. The simple furniture consisted of large, flat-topped chests for storage, some stools, and a sizable sleeping platform covered with a padded mat stuffed with herbs that emitted a strange, spicy scent.
The sound of the door opening made Blackstone turn away from the view of the canal, now shadowed by dusk. He tensed as Naxara entered the room and strode toward the sleeping platform, her expression bleak. She removed her brief skirt, which was slit at her right hip and held in place by a frog button. Casting the garment aside, she then lay on the sleeping platform with her legs spread wide and a grim expression on her face as if awaiting the fall of an executioner’s axe.
“I’m ready,” she announced, her voice cold.
Blackstone looked at her, aghast. “Ready for what?” he asked, so shocked by her actions that the obvious answer escaped him.
Naxara gave him a withering look of contempt. “By mating with me, you complete the final act that will make you king,” she replied.
The Earthman was aghast. He had expected some kind of coronation ceremony, a public spectacle of elaborate grandeur, but, as he was to learn, these people did things very differently. Blackstone managed to bring his wits together. He could see that Naxara wasn’t in the remotest way eager for his embrace, and his conscience rebelled, for under these circumstances, the act seemed more like rape in his eyes. He explained his feelings to the queen.
She stared at him, not with gratitude but with unexpected anger. “You are no man at all,” she sneered. “You pathetic weakling! You are even too feeble to take what is rightfully yours. How you killed my husband, who displayed his manly strength by taking me with vigor, regardless of my feelings, I do not know.”
Blackstone sighed, head hanging as he sank wearily onto a stool. It was clear to him that he was now immersed in a culture so different from his own that misunderstandings would be the order of the day. Could he find some common ground with this woman? It seemed unlikely, but he had to try. Perhaps if she knew the truth, it might change things for the better. It was a risk, but he knew he couldn’t become a brute just to satisfy her expectations of what a real man was and thus betray his sense of decency.
“The reason you find it difficult to believe I killed your husband is due to the fact that I didn’t,” replied Blackstone as he met her contemptuous gaze. He then explained why he had arrived at the conclusion that King Axbar’s weapon had been smeared with a subtle poison. “Someone wanted your husband dead. I don’t know who or for what reason, but if we work together, perhaps the culprit can be brought to justice.”
Naxara’s look became thoughtful as his words sunk in. “Very well,” she said after a long silence. “I agree with your proposal. You are still a weakling in my eyes, but you are at least an honest one, which mitigates your shortcomings to some degree. Since you are not manly enough to fill me with your seed, you may sleep on the floor over there. But be warned, your status as king is interim. You have seven days to complete the act and thus secure your position. Fail to do so, and by law, you will be executed for dereliction of duty.”
**********
The hard floor of the royal suite hadn’t been conducive to sleep. It was now midnight, and the restless Earthman walked alone in the expansive walled garden surrounding the soaring tower occupied by Shadora’s nobility. As he quietly trod upon the meandering path that wound its way through the dense, black, velvety vegetation, the sound of voices speaking in hushed tones impinged upon his consciousness. Blackstone stopped and listened carefully. The Earthman couldn’t make out the words, but the whispering of the hidden beings and the clandestine nature of the meeting aroused his suspicion.
Blackstone advanced cautiously with feline stealth. The path ahead bent sharply, and the speakers, he was sure, lurked around this curve. The curious Earthman stepped off the path into the vegetation, threading a passage through the thick growth with utmost care until he was as close as he dared. Then he stopped and listened carefully.
“I don’t like this plan of yours,” Blackstone clearly heard one shadowy figure complain. “There is no guarantee that the king of Mesmen will keep his word.”
“Silence,” hissed the second speaker. “Hold firmly to your courage. Zalon will not betray us; he needs me as much as I need him. Now, take my message to the king of Mesmen. Tell him my plan has succeeded - the pathetic human is now in power. Remind him of his promise - that I will rule Shadora in his name as a reward for helping him conquer the city. Success is certain. The human will be easily defeated when Zalon issues his challenge. Now go.”
Blackstone suppressed a gasp. Now he knew why Axbar, the former king, had been slain - so that he, Blackstone, would become monarch and thus weaken Shadora for conquest by its enemies. The Earthman shifted uneasily at the thought of what was to follow. His slight movement put pressure on a twig beneath his foot, causing it to snap. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet.
The two shadowy figures spun around, bone daggers hissing from their sheaths. “We have been discovered,” gasped one in alarm.
Blackstone tensed as both swiftly raced toward the Earthman’s hiding place.
Chapter 3: The Gauntlet Is Cast
As the two savage warriors swiftly moved, Blackstone, unarmed, looked desperately around. His frantic gaze fell upon a type of parasitic fungus resembling a puffball, and inspiration came upon him. Seizing the orange-sized growth by its stem, he quickly tore it from the plant on which it grew and swiftly hurled the fungus at his rushing foes.
The globular thallophyte struck the lead attacker in the chest and exploded in a noxious cloud of allergenic spores. Both assailants stumbled, cursing and coughing on the swirling haze of dust-fine agametes. As they staggered in disarray, Blackstone, breath held, erupted from concealment and rammed one would-be killer with a shoulder charge that felled him to the ground.
His second foeman swung at him with a dagger. Blackstone dodged the clumsy strike made so by the debilitating spores and slammed his boot against the fellow’s knee. The warrior howled shrilly; down he went. The Earthman vaulted over his writhing adversary and sprinted up the night-dark path to safety.
**********
Three days had passed since the midnight incident in the garden. After informing Naxara of what had happened, both now knew who the plotters were. It had been too dark to identify the conspirators visually, but according to the queen, the primary instigator could only be one person - Vaknor, the dead king’s older brother, who should have been monarch. But cruel fate had robbed Vaknor of his birthright. He had been born a cripple, unfit for combat and, therefore, disqualified from rulership by Shadoran law.
The second fellow was Kavak, a minor noble whose title had been revoked because he had slain a rival by stabbing him in the back, literally - a cowardly act by the warrior code of his people. Both men, misfits in their culture, had found common cause against the society they considered to be opposed to them, and out of spite and the desire for revenge, they had made a pact with the monarch of Mesmen in a treacherous conspiracy to overthrow the kingship of Shadora. Of course, the royal guards had been sent to arrest the pair. But neither could be found, and after an extensive citywide search, it was obvious that both had fled, thus confirming their guilt.
But the flight of the traitors hadn’t stopped their plot. Blackstone put down the lengthy scroll he had been reading. It was a formal challenge issued by Zalon, King of Mesmen, for the rulership of Shadora, a challenge that had been delivered earlier in the morning by his emissary.
Blackstone turned to Naxara, who sat with him at the small round table in their private room.
“From the way this challenge is written,” he began, “it appears that I have the right to choose the nature of the contest, which doesn’t seem to be restricted to actual combat. Am I reading things right?”
“You are correct in your deduction,” replied Naxara. “But if you desire to choose some intellectual contest and thereby defeat King Zalon with your wits, then you hope in vain. The purpose of this challenge is to test each participant’s manly strength and virtue, and thus prove their fitness to be the monarch. Whatever you have in mind must present a real danger: the danger of death to yourself and to the ruler of Mesmen.
“Zalon is a mighty warrior,” she continued. “You cannot hope to defeat him. For the sake of my people, I suggest that you accept the challenge of Dagron. With my husband’s death, he has now become the best of our warriors. When he kills you, he will be inaugurated as the monarch of Shadora and can then take up the challenge. We stand a far better chance of defeating Zalon with Dagron as our champion.”
Blackstone looked at Naxara, aghast at her proposal. It was the calm and casual manner in which she suggested he allow himself to be killed rather than the proposal itself. It was as if she were encouraging him to undertake a task that was a minor inconvenience. The Earthman understood the concept of laying down one’s life for the greater good, but he wasn’t feeling suicidal at the moment.
The Earthman managed to overcome his shock. “I’ve been expecting Zalon’s challenge based on what you told me earlier,” he replied. “I know I can’t beat a trained warrior, and I’ve been thinking about it and gathering information. I assume you are familiar with Zari, the accursed city. My challenge to Zalon will be that we both enter that dark and foreboding metropolis with all its legendary perils, and whoever brings out the single gemstone that is the third eye of the idol of Baskak shall be declared the victor of the contest - irrefutable proof that they possess sufficient manly virtues to be the ruler of Shadora.”
Naxara’s eyes went wide, and now it was her turn to gasp in shock at the danger of his astonishing proposal.
**********
Blackstone gazed at the brooding, vegetation choked ruins of Zari. The Accursed City was far older than Shadora and built of a greenish stone rather than the mud brick that now prevailed. The metropolis had been constructed further up the sloping bank of the gigantic canal, for in those ancient days, the water had run much higher, unlike the sluggish flow of the dying world of this current age. All that remained of the once-mighty habitation were crumbling walls and the nub of a ruined tower poking up here and there from the sable, velvety growth that shrouded this forlorn epitaph of a long-gone people.
The only substantial edifice that remained was the building that contained the idol of Baskak. It was a stepped structure whose base was hexagonal, giving it a conical appearance. The apex was flat, and from it rose the temple proper, where the idol of the god was housed. It stood dark and mysterious, its monolithic bulk defying the ages, its bas-reliefs depicting bloodthirsty rituals of gory sacrifice that cloaked the building in an aura of quiet, watchful menace.
What had actually happened to the people of Zari was lost in the mists of time. Only legends remained - that the other gods, outraged by the people’s iniquities, had laid a curse upon the city; that all had died of a virulent plague; and now the mysterious metropolis was the haunt of the malevolent ghosts of the ancient and restless dead.
Blackstone wasn’t superstitious, but he couldn’t deny that the ruins exuded an unsettling air of silent peril. He suppressed a shudder, for it wouldn’t do to show his unease in the presence of his enemy.
The Earthman looked at Zalon, king of Mesmen, from the corner of his eye. The hulking brute stood next to him, also gazing at the ruins, his battle-scarred visage impassive. The fellow towered head and shoulders above Blackstone, his bulky frame a mass of corded muscles, scarred by many brutal fights. In the background were the canoes from which they had disembarked, which had conveyed the unarmed representatives from Shadora and Mesmen, eight from each city, including the rowers who had come as witnesses to the challenge, Naxara among them.
“Shall we begin,” said Blackstone.
Zalon grunted his assent, and the two men walked into the tangled growth that smothered the dark ruins of the ancient city. The dense vegetation cloaked them in its velvety darkness, shrouding them in shadows. Zalon quickly took the lead, forging a path with arrogant confidence; Blackstone followed on his heels with more wariness.
They had advanced about a hundred yards when the huge, scaly warrior-king swiftly turned and struck at Blackstone with his club. The Earthman had anticipated treachery, but even so, the sheer speed of the attack almost proved to be his swift undoing.
Blackstone leaped back. The whistling weapon missed him by a hair’s breadth, but his heel caught on a root, and down he went. Zalon loomed over him, his ugly visage snarling in contempt. The king struck again. Blackstone rolled aside, and the heavy club thudded into the loamy soil.
The Earthman grabbed a handful of dirt and hurled it into his wild opponent’s face. Zalon stumbled back, spitting curses and soil. Blackstone scrambled up and drew his own weapon. Then the fight was interrupted as a dozen small but ferocious creatures burst from the undergrowth and swarmed the two men. Blackstone went down beneath a tidal wave of bodies. He heard Zalon cursing luridly as he, too, was swamped by the horrid beasts. Then a crude club struck the Earthman’s head, and darkness swallowed his reeling mind.
**********
Blackstone regained consciousness. He felt like a herd of elephants had trampled him. He groaned, cursed, and opened his eyes. He was in a small room. Light filtered in through a trapezoidal doorway, which showed a clear sky, indicating that the room was elevated well above the smothering growth that choked the ancient ruins.
The worried Earthman looked himself over. He was battered, bruised, and bound hand and foot. A cold wash of fear swept over him with the realization of his helpless state. Grimly, he fought it off, tested his bonds, and swore. He had been expertly tied. Swiveling his head, Blackstone saw that Zalon lay several feet away, similarly trussed and still unconscious.
Looking around, his eyes fell upon a hideous idol, confirming his suspicions. They had been carried to the temple of Baskak. The huge black statue, made from segments of carved wood fitted together, was all fangs, claws, and bulging eyes. The thing exuded menace, and the revolted Earthman wondered how such a horror could be venerated. Then his gaze focused on the god’s third eye in the center of its forehead - a strange, glowing, baseball-sized crystal that cast a ray like a searchlight beam upon the temple’s floor.
His speculations were interrupted by a string of profanities. Zalon was awake and struggling mightily to free himself, his powerful muscles swelling with wild strength as he sought to burst his bonds. But his efforts were ended by a swarm of chittering creatures that emerged from the shadowed corner of the temple - the same horrors that had captured them.
The things were reptilian parodies of the planet’s humanoids, devolved by some strange force to the level of diminutive, knuckle-walking brutes. Their dark eyes gleamed with a dull but malicious intelligence as they advanced upon the helpless men who had dared to invade their dark domain.
The things were small in size, not much larger than a monkey, but there were a dozen of them. They leaped upon Zalon. The king cursed, struggled against his bonds, his huge muscles swelling mightily. But his efforts were of no avail. The creatures dragged him to the idol and cast his struggling form within the beam projected by the hideous statue’s eye.
Zanon screamed as the ray bathed him in its malefic light, his shrieks of agony echoing within the temple. The creatures leaped up and down in wild excitement. They thumped the floor with their scaly fists in appreciation as Zalon writhed in utter torment. Blackstone looked on, sick with revulsion at the depraved antics of his degenerate captors, knowing that in but moments he, too, would meet that sickening fate.
Chapter 4: Treachery
As the creatures delighted in their victims' torment, Blackstone frantically set to work to free himself. His hands, although bound behind his back, still had some mobility. His sweating fingers, numb from the constricting ropes, fumbled at his belt as they felt for the shard of razor-sharp obsidian vertically embedded in the leather. The prick of its keen edge reassured him that his bestial captors had not discovered it, or if they had, their dull minds had not discerned its purpose.
Blackstone, having anticipated the possibility of capture, either through the treachery of Zalon or by unknown enemies, had prepared. Pressing the ropes to the shard, he began to saw at his bonds, the sweat of fear heavy upon him, Zalon’s shrieks of agony a hot spur to his frenzied effort.
The ropes began to part. Zalon’s cries grew weaker. Soon, the horrid creatures would turn their full attention to the frightened Earthman. The last strand around Blackstone’s wrists snapped. He pulled the shard from his belt and began to cut the ropes around his ankles. As Blackstone frantically sawed, a final whimper was uttered by the king; then dreadful silence filled the room.
The creatures turned their dark and malevolent gaze upon Blackstone as the last rope fell away. Then they howled madly when they saw that he was free. The Earthman leapt to his feet as the horrors charged toward him in a wild rush. A desperate plan formed in Blackstone’s mind as the slavering foe bore down upon him. Rather than trying to flee, he raced at them in what appeared to be a suicidal move.
The rushing creatures halted in confusion. The Earthman made a wild leap, vaulting over his confounded foes with Olympic agility. Landing behind them, he made straight for the idol and began to scale its height, his hands and feet finding precarious purchase on the cracked and ancient wood.
The creatures howled in rage at the profanation of Baskak. They raced at him, clawed hands eager to rend the vile desecrator. Blackstone gained the idol’s head, whose neck was deeply cracked, the timber split from untold ages of desiccation. He grabbed the statue’s horrid skull and hauled on it with all his might.
A clawed hand latched onto the Earthman’s ankle with an iron grip. Blackstone screamed, but retained his hold. He heaved mightily on the idol’s head as the vile creature sought to haul him from his perch. Another savage foe leaped onto his leg as the other creatures gathered around their god and began to climb toward him. The two creatures holding him heaved, tugging mightily. Their inadvertent aid facilitated the desperate Earthman’s wild effort. The idol’s neck snapped under the impetus of the trio, and all three tumbled to the floor, scattering those below.
Pain lanced through Blackstone’s injuries as he landed on his feet, unlike his two attackers, who crashed heavily to the floor, skulls cracking on the stone. Fighting through the agony, he swiftly shone the deadly radiance of the idol’s gem upon the other monsters that had leaped clear of his falling body. The creatures, now mere feet from him, howled like demented banshees as he swept the beam across them. The deadly ray sent them crashing in writhing heaps to the stones. A flash of movement caught the Earthman’s eye. The other monsters, still clinging to the idol, were about to leap upon him. Quickly, he turned the burning light on the brutes. The horrors fell, writhing like leeches to which a flaming match had been applied.
Blackstone staggered away from his attackers, all the while sweeping the deadly ray across their convulsing bodies. Their wild shrieks filled the temple with a cacophony of tortured sounds as he stumbled toward the doorway. Here, grim-faced, he leaned against the exit as he finished his loathsome task of complete eradication, for wounded as he was, he couldn’t risk leave any of the things alive to attack him in his injured state.
The final whimper died. The temple was silent and still. Blackstone, shaken and nauseous from what he’d had to do, placed the idol’s head on the floor, careful to ensure its deadly beam did not fall upon him. Catching his breath, he saw that his injuries were not as bad as he had first feared, and he bandaged them as best he could using strips of cloth torn from his shirt. The task completed, he began the painful descent of the building’s steep stairway, made more difficult by the weight of the dangerous trophy he was carrying.
Entering the jungle-like canal growth, he began to retrace his steps, following the clear path that his bestial captors had made when carrying him and the now-deceased Zalon through the dense, velvety undergrowth. Blackstone paused in thought upon reaching the spot where the king had attempted to slay him. It was clear that Zalon wasn’t as bound by a sense of honor as most of the Shadorans, which made the Earthman wonder what other treachery the dead man might have been planning - lethal surprises that could outlive his demise.
Blackstone decided to reconnoiter first, rather than return to the waiting party of witnesses in bold triumph. With this in mind, he moved off at a tangent and arrived at the canal some distance from the point where he and Zalon had entered the tangled growth that choked the ancient ruins.
Peering cautiously through a gap in the foliage, he suppressed a gasp of fear at what he saw. The Shadorans had been overpowered and now lay bound and helpless upon the ground. He saw a tall humanoid with an elaborately carved walking stick limp toward Naxara, who was trussed with ropes like the other members of her party. The fellow stood over her, his brutal face a leering mask of dark triumph. Another smaller henchman stood next to the cripple like a bodyguard. The lame man spoke harsh words to Naxara, who replied with equal venom, but the distance was too great for Blackstone to grasp the meaning of the rough exchange.
What was clear was that the limping fiend could only be Vaknor - the man whose disability had robbed him of the kingship of Shadora. The smaller fellow was no doubt Kavak, his co-conspirator. The two traitors, along with a party of Mesmenite warriors under Vaknor’s command and with the consent of Zalon, had arrived at Zari ahead of the rest and had hidden in the undergrowth. With the aid of the Mesmenite observers, who had been aware of the planned ambush, Kavak and his warriors set upon the unarmed Shadorans, and with this combined strength, Naxara and her people had been quickly overpowered.
Blackstone did a headcount. There were sixteen of the enemy and only eight of the Shadorans, including himself. The odds were evened somewhat by the fact that he had the idol’s head and its deadly gemstone, his foes being ignorant of its properties. The crystal’s beam, however, was short-range, which meant he’d have to get much closer than he was, putting him within reach of his opponents. The Earthman, bracing his courage, stepped calmly from concealment and approached the hostile group.
“Ho, Vaknor,” he called loudly. “Zalon is dead, and as you can see, I have the head of Baskak. Surrender now, and I will show you and your men mercy.”
Vaknor turned. His eyes went wide upon seeing that the Earthman was still alive, and he was further shocked by the news of Zalon’s death; then, derision quickly replaced amazement. An unpleasant laugh burst from him in an explosion of withering contempt.
“Do you think me a fool who will surrender to a single, unarmed man?” Then, turning to his warriors: “Slay the fool.”
The grinning Meshmenites arrogantly walked toward Blackstone. They were in no hurry. The lone madman was unarmed. The idol’s beam shone upon the ground; the pale ray was invisible in the bright sunshine. Blackstone kept his expression unreadable. The overconfident enemy was behaving as he had anticipated, their utter contempt for humans causing them to underestimate him.
Closer they came, nearer still. Then, from feigned passivity, Blackstone exploded into action. With a wild yell, he charged the foe and swept the deadly ray across them. Scaly warriors screamed, collapsing in helpless agony. The Earthman vaulted over their writhing bodies, arrowing toward the stunned Vaknor.
Vaknor tore his eyes from his fallen men. He broke free from the shock of seeing his warriors mysteriously incapacitated and shouted a command. Six warriors, who had been hidden in the tangled growth as a contingency to ambush the returning Earthman in the event he survived the ordeal, burst from concealment and rushed at Blackstone.
“Behind you,” cried Naxara in dire warning.
Blackstone skidded to a halt. He swiftly turned, and the six attackers quickly fell as the scything ray swept across them. Vaknor cursed. He drew his club from his belt. With a curse, he hurled it, and as the Earthman quickly spun around to face him, the flying weapon struck the idol’s gemstone. Crystal shattered. The ray died. Blackstone was now unarmed.
Kavak charged, club raised, yelling wildly. Blackstone hurled the head at the rushing man. Vaknor’s henchman dodged, giving Blackstone time to snatch up the club that had shattered the gem. The Earthman kicked dirt in the face of his opponent. Kavak cursed and stumbled, half-blind. Blackstone leapt forward and slammed his club against the fellow’s skull. Bone cracked, and down to death went the vile villain.
Vaknor cursed. He reached for Naxara, intending to use her as a hostage. The queen, though bound hand and foot, sank her teeth into the hand that tried to grab her. Vaknor screamed. He hit her with his other hand, his blocky fist slamming against her jaw. Rage clouded Varok’s judgment as he looked at the unconscious woman. He drew his bone dagger, hell-bent on all-consuming revenge as he raised the deadly weapon.
But the fatal strike that came was not Valkor’s; it was instead Blackstone’s terrific blow. The Earthman’s club cracked the distracted traitor’s skull, forever ending his perfidy and cruel ambition. It was over.
**********
Blackstone, now returned to Shadora, stood in the royal apartments looking at the young woman kneeling in front of him - Icheni, the wife of Zalon, who was now his by right of being the victor of the challenge. Not only this, but the Earthman was also king of Mesmen. Blackstone wore a troubled expression. Icheni was quiet and placid, not at all like Naxara. She had already told him that she would submit to his will in all things and complete obedience. This knowledge disturbed the Earthman greatly. He didn’t want a slave, nor to be the ruler of two cities. What the hell was he going to do?
Blackstone’s troubled thoughts were interrupted by Naxara as she entered the room. He turned to face her, and his worries were an open book to her keen and insightful gaze, for by now she had a deeper understanding of the Earthman.
“You can’t free Icheni from her obligation to be your wife any more than you can free me,” she warned, as if reading his mind. “If you reject her, then in her eyes and the eyes of her people, you are saying she is unworthy, and so she will have to commit ritual suicide to recover her honor. I’m sure you don’t want that.”
“There are a lot of things I don’t want,” replied Blackstone quietly. “The heavy responsibility of being the ruler of two cities is one of them.”
Naxara moved to Blackstone's side and looked at Icheni, not unkindly. “Go and rest,” she said gently to the younger woman. “We will talk later. Fear not; all will be well.”
Ichini rose. She bowed and departed silently.
Naxara turned her attention to the Earthman, her expression thoughtful. “At first, I thought that you were weak,” she said. “But now I see there is more to strength than bulging muscles and bravado. I have been thinking deeply about our situation. Fate has woven the strands of our lives together, and also the destinies of our two peoples. Working together, we can be the bridge between two worlds and, thereby, the means of escape from our dying planet, for your people have technology forever lost to us. Rather than dwell on what you do not want, why not work toward that noble goal.”
Blackstone grew quietly thoughtful for a time. Acceptance had been slow in coming, but at last he realized that there was no returning to his former life. The people of two cities now looked to him as their leader. Whether he liked it or not, fate had cast him in this role. At last, the Earthman spoke, “There is wisdom in your advice.” He said with a smile, “Let us work toward that end.”
“This pleases me,” replied Naxara. “And I think that what I have to tell you will please you, too. The end of the seven days in which you must claim me with your manhood and thus consolidate your kingship fast approaches. I no longer view the consummation of our marriage with approbation. Indeed, I find myself somewhat curious about how it is done in the manner of your people. Will you come to my sleeping platform this evening?”
Blackstone smiled. Through adversity, they had drawn close, and now neither one was a stranger to the other. “It is an offer I would not refuse, even if my life did not depend on it,” he replied sincerely.
Then he sobered. “But what of Icheni?” He asked, “The death of her husband is so recent.”
“Remember, the concept of human romantic love that you have explained to me on previous occasions is foreign to us,” replied Naxara. “We are a pragmatic people. Neither I nor Icheni can love you like a human woman. Our minds are constituted differently. Can you accept this?”
Blackstone thought deeply for a moment. “Yes,” he replied honestly. “I can.”
Naxara nodded her approval, and the couple moved to a window, infused with hope and purpose. Together, they gazed out in companionable silence at an ancient world to which change was coming with slow but definite certainty.
The End