Author: Kirk Straughen
Synopsis: In this planetary romance set in an alternative world of magic and mystery, Assur of ancient Babylon is forced by Amnon-Nur, a wicked sorcerer, to undertake a hazardous quest to Earth's perilous jungle moon and recover a magical device. Can our brawny hero outwit the evil magician and save the beautiful queen of a Lunar civilization? Only by reading the story will you gain the answer to this question.
Edit history: Minor changes were made to this story on 5 June 2021.
Chapter 1: The Sorcerer's Tower
Assur crouched in the shadows of the high wall that surrounded the tower of Amnon-Nur, Master Sorcerer of Babylon, cursing himself a fool for the hundredth time.
It was unbecoming for a member of the King’s Guard to be engaging in such foolhardy escapades, but he had accepted the challenge, and to retreat from it now would entail an intolerable loss of face.
True, he had been drunk at the time he agreed, and flushed with the false courage of wine, but he knew that was immaterial in the eyes of his comrades who would forever condemn him is a coward and a braggart if he failed in his undertaking. Indeed, at this very moment they were there, hidden in the distant shadows, their sharp eyes upon him.
“Well’, he thought, “At lest they let me choose a night when Amnon-Nur would be closeted with King Namu-Enna, discussing matters of state.”
Encasing Assur’s strong hands were a pair of dragon’s claws. These were gauntlets armed with bronze talons used for scaling walls, and strapped upon his sandaled feet were other claws to grip the slippery stones.
“Time to go,” he thought, checking his equipment for the final time.
Flexing his lithe body he began the ascent, driving the talons into the joins between the granite blocks of the wall, slowly levering himself up its smooth height. After what seemed an age he mounted the crenulations, and descended into the sorcerer’s secret abode.
Looking around warily, Assur found himself in a garden, and was strangely moved by its unearthly beauty. The plants glowed with wan luminescence – deep reds, sultry purple, others vivid yellow. Flowers there were, but what weird blooms – soft sounds, like birdsong, issued forth from their trumpet throats. A gravel path of white stone spiraled about the enclosure, leading in lazy circles to the massive cedar door of the square central tower, doubtless locked.
The quietness of the night was suddenly broken by the crunch of naked feet upon the path. Assur turned quickly, gasping at the sight that met his startled gaze. Before him stood a creature, an uncanny blend of man and lion – a weird mutation wrought by strange sorcery. Its coarse mane bristled, powerful muscles tensed beneath its tawny hide. The leonine face twisted into a bestial snarl.
With a coughing roar the guardian sprang at him, wicked talons extended, an arm swinging at his head. Dodging aside, Assur raked its flank with his dragon’s claws as it hurtled past. Death, a grim spectator, seemed to mock him from the shadows.
Again the thing came at him, more animal than man. Lashing out with his foot he shattered its knee sending it crashing to the sward where it lay, limbs wildly thrashing, roaring in pain. Seizing a large rock from the border of the path, Assur hurled it at the beast, crushing its skull. It gave one final convulsive twitch, and then lay still. He looked upon the broken form – the spawn of dark magic – with a mixture of pity and revulsion.
Tearing his gaze from the corpse, he looked quickly about. The grounds were deserted, and all lay quietly bathed in moonlight. Assur’s gaze swept up the tower’s dizzy height. His throat went dry at the thought of the climb ahead to the balcony far above. Despite the dangers he felt he had no choice but to continue. Breathing deeply, he began the second ascent.
Up and up he went, muscles aching with fatigue. Several times he slipped, barely saving himself with a desperate clawing grasp. One fatal error and he knew he’d be splattered to red ruin on the hard earth far below.
“Don’t look down”, he thought. “Keep going. Up and up. Nearly there.”
Muscles trembling, he finally grasped the balcony and, with his fading strength, hauled his quivering body over the ornate rail to collapse upon the tiled floor. There he lay, panting like a spent hound, wondering if he would live to greet the rising sun.
After a time, Assur climbed to his feet and leaned on the rail, waving to the hidden watchers in the dark. Babylon was spread out before his gaze, its buildings whitewashed with moonlight. The gentle night breeze cooled his sweat-streaked body, and bore to him the scent of jasmine from the hanging gardens. Beyond, the ziggurat reared its massive bulk heavenward to touch the star gemmed sky.
Turning, he looked at the wide doors opening onto the balcony of the sorcerer’s tower. Assur well knew Amnon-Nur did not take kindly to trespasses, and that more than one would-be thief had met a grisly end for daring to invade the sanctity of his abode.
"No use delaying", he thought. "Best get this done as quickly as possible."
Stepping across the threshold, Assur entered the Sorcerer's apartments. Diffuse light from an indeterminate source illuminated the spacious room. Shelved scrolls lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and all around were thaumaturgic engines of brass and crystal spheres, rods and cones, softly humming with inner power.
“Here is real sorcery”, he thought. “Not the mummery and slight of hand employed by mountebanks – those charlatans who infest the market square.”
Assur, having fulfilled his pledge to enter the apartments of Amnon-Nur, was now eager to depart. But when he turned to leave, found the way blocked by a dark shape silhouetted in starlight. It glided with ominous silence from the balcony into the room. Cold fear clutched his heart for the room’s illumination disclosed the features of the sorcerer – gaunt and dark, eyes as cold as ice and hard as death.
Thinking that his hour had come, Assur chose to die a manly death, and with this in mind he made a desperate lunge at Amnon-Nur. But before his clawed hands could close about his adversary’s throat the sorcerer, who’s magic had warned him his tower had been invaded and who had returned by levitation, raised a crystal rod and depressed a stud upon it. A violet ray sprang from its tip, bathing Assur with searing radiance.
The young man convulsed violently. He fell to the floor writhing in agony, his body wracked by intolerable pain. Merciful oblivion came quickly, enfolding him in its dark embrace.
Chapter 2: Voyage to the Moon
Assur stirred weakly. Groaning, he slowly opened his eyes, and raised himself to an elbow. He was chained to a wall, a collar about his neck, his only injury several bruises from the fall. The dragon’s claws, his only potential weapons, were gone. A few feet away on an ivory stool sat Amnon-Nur, gray robes folded elegantly about his sparse frame, appraising him with cool dispassionate eyes.
The sorcerer spoke without preamble. “I should kill you, but I’ve decided you may prove useful. Your choice is this – a slow and painful death, or life and riches if you undertake a mission on my behalf. Well, what shall it be? Shall you serve me or die?”
“I’ve heard there are worse things to fear than death. Tell me more, then I’ll decide which I prefer.”
Such speech was sheer bravado of course, but to Assur’s mind, better than an unmanly display of naked fear.
Amnon-Nur smiled thinly. “Don’t confuse stupidity with bravery, boy. What I am about to tell you, you must know anyway, so listen carefully. I have, using my viewing sphere, discovered an artifact on the Moon that I suspect is a powerful amulet. It is hung about the neck of an idol located within a jungle-shrouded temple. In the temple is other treasure that is yours for the taking. The amulet, however, must be brought to me. Agree to this, and I’ll let you live.”
There was a moment of stunned silence as the full import of the sorcerer’s words registered upon Assur’s mind.
“You’d have me mount the air like a bird, and storm heaven’s vault?” Came the incredulous reply. “Why, it’s common knowledge the god Sin dwells upon the Moon. He’d not want mere mortals knocking on his gates.”
Amnon-Nur stood slowly, anger darkening his harsh features.
“Do you think me a fool, boy? I’ve thought long and hard about this venture. I’d go myself, but I’m old and the trip is not without its dangers, but not from the gods who dwell only in the hearts and minds of men. Well, what’s your decision, a chance at life or slow and certain death?”
Assur didn’t entirely trust the man; he’d heard too many dark rumors to make that mistake. However, under present circumstances…
“Very well”, he replied. “Since I’ve little choice I’ll undertake your quest. But mark my words, I’m my own man not your slave, I’ll not cower before you like a spineless cur.”
Amnon-Nur grunted as he tossed Assur a key. Inwardly, he was mildly amused, his cynical mind contemptuous of what he thought theatrical heroics.
“I don’t care how you act, so long as you bring me the amulet. Free yourself, but stay where you are. I must now summon the stellar elemental that will carry you on your voyage to the Moon.”
Assur watched as the sorcerer moved about the chamber, wondering if it were really possible for men to sail the void like ships upon the Euphrates River.
“I suppose I’ll find out soon enough,” he thought.
From an ornately carved chest Amnon-Nur brought forth six spheres of azure glass a foot in diameter, each supported by an ebony tripod. A silver rod ten inches long surmounted every globe.
The sorcerer arranged the spheres in a perfect circle, and joined them with burnished copper rods that somehow sank into the bosses projecting from their tripods. When the final connection was made he stood back, arms folded, and watched in silent satisfaction as the spheres revolved so their silver rods tilted towards the circle’s center and began to emit fans of pearly rays that formed a swirling cloud of light.
The light expanded to a huge globe, darkened, condensed. A form stood revealed. It was a smoky gelatinous cone, man high, with six long ropy tentacles depending from the center of its base. Four faceted eyes, like large black jewels, were spaced evenly around its faintly glowing body.
“By the gods,” gasped Assur. “What is that thing?”
“Your steed, my lord, by which you shall mount the air like a bird, and storm heaven’s vault,” was the sardonic reply. “Come, come; don’t look so horrified. It’s under my control. There’s nothing to fear.” And then, sotto voce: “At least not yet.”
As Amnon-Nur rummaged in another chest, Assur approached the creature, his curiosity overcoming his initial fear. The thing hung placidly in mid air, its tentacles gently undulating upon the floor. Strange emotions radiated from it – wordless communication that impinged itself upon his mind, conjuring up images of interstellar space, cold, vast and utterly strange. His flesh crawled at the thought of its touch.
“Demons take Amnon-Nur,” he thought. “I’m not letting that thing take me anywhere.”
The sorcerer approached and handed him a weapon, thinking. “Let’s see if this fool has sense enough to keep the sword in its scabbard.”
In one fluid motion Assur unsheathed the blade and thrust with lightning swiftness at Amnon-Nur. But the sorcerer, with speed and agility that belied his age, had leapt aside.
“Ah, you wish to play,” he purred. Very well then, boy, have at me, I’ll not use my Rod of Power.”
Amnon-Nur raised his left arm and as his sleeve fell back exposing the limb, Assur was shocked to see it was of living brass.
“An experiment gone wrong,” explained the sorcerer. “But still, it has its uses. Come, boy, are you afraid?”
Grimly, Assur struck and struck again, each time his savage cuts and thrusts were unerringly parried by Amnon-Nur using his arm of brass.
Sweat stood out upon Assur’s brow as he sought to pierce his foe’s guard. Breathing heavily, he fought on, knowing the sorcerer was only toying with him, but refusing to give up hope.
“I tire of this game,” said Amnon-Nur as his brass fingers closed about the sword and wrenched it from Assur’s grasp.
The sorcerer tossed the weapon back to him. “You’re more useful to me alive than dead. Keep the sword; you’ll need it for there are other swords across the void.”
Assur buckled it about his slim waist, feeling like a small boy who had just been chastised for a childish prank, knowing he’d have to see this venture through and hope for the best.
“The stellar elemental will now embrace you and carry you to the Moon where it will instruct you further concerning your mission.”
The sorcerer regarded him darkly. “Remember, you best serve yourself by serving me.”
“That remains to be seen,” thought Assur.
Amnon-Nur turned to the elemental, and it seemed to Assur that something passed between them, but what it was he could not say. Then, at a gesture from the sorcerer, the being enfolded Assur in its clammy embrace. Lifting him from the floor it drifted to the balcony and, with appalling swiftness, shot into the starry night.
Assur tensed. It seemed as if his stomach had been left behind in the tower. He looked down and was alarmed to see the city shrinking to a child’s toy, then a dot, then nothing. The night shrouded sphere of the earth hung below him, and he was amazed. It was a ball, not flat as he had thought. He felt overwhelmed by powerful emotions – the exhilaration of flight swifter than any bird, and the wonder of strange and marvelous things no man of Earth had ever seen before.
Everything seemed to shimmer as if seen through a heat haze, and the elemental conveyed to him the idea they were now surrounded by a bubble of force that trapped within it the air and warmth of Earth, without which he would perish in the airless void of space.
Looking up, he saw the Moon rapidly filling his field of vision. It seemed as if they were traveling with the speed of thought as they flashed towards its surface. Already continents, silver-green and cloud-laced, were discernable, their shores lapped by dark seas.
They were descending into the world’s atmosphere when suddenly; from around the dark side of the globe shot a long sinuous body, its coppery armored segments glinting with reflected sunlight. Its pointed cylindrical head, covered with bands of crimson hemispheres, arrowed towards them with alarming speed.
Assur sensed the elemental’s fear, and it fed his own. It jerked to one side, but too late. There was bone-jarring collision of bodies. The Babylonian was torn free and plunged to the surface of the Moon, ignored by the two creatures now locked in mortal combat high above.
Chapter 3: The Dark Idol.
As Assur tumbled in wild descent to certain death, he composed himself for the end as best he could: A brief prayer to the gods in thankfulness that his passing would be mourned by neither parents nor lover, and a certain perverse satisfaction in knowing that Amnon-Nur would never have his amulet.
“It won’t be long now he thought,” surprised at his own calmness as the surface of the sea swelled beneath him.
Unexpectedly, something coiled about his ankles, its iron grip slowing his headlong fall. He gasped in agony as the force of deceleration wracked his body, plunging him into dark unconsciousness.
Looking up upon recovery, he saw the elemental, two tentacles entwining his legs, the other four pointing down rigidly, flaming with a white radiance that arrested his rapid descent. Never did Assur think he’d be so glad to feel its clammy embrace.
A few moments later the corpse of the creature that had assailed them fell past, a flaming ruin. It struck the surface of the strange sea, and vanished in a fountain of ebon spray.
Slowly their speed and altitude diminished until they were skimming across the surface of an alien sea whose waters were a fluid of liquid darkness that stained the looming shore with sable foam.
Upon arriving at the sandy beach, the elemental gently lowered Assur to its pristine whiteness that was fringed by a jungle of tall fern-like trees; their trunks, dark purple in color, were crowned by leaves of silver-green. He sat down heavily, knees trembling in delayed reaction to his ordeal.
“Indeed,” he thought. “Some things can be more frightening than death itself.”
Rays of thought, cast by the being, impinged strongly upon his consciousness, interrupting his musings: It seemed there was an avenue of stone carvings leading from the beach through jungle and to the temple. The temple itself radiated an emanation the elemental indicated it could not approach. Lifting a tentacle, it pointed in the direction he was to take, and sent him upon his way.
**********
The dark, humid jungle closed in upon Assur. Strange pungent scents assailed his nostrils, and unfamiliar cries his ears. Riotous growths smothered the carvings – huge cubes of gray stone covered in an unknown script – making them difficult to see.
Drawing his sword, he began to hack a path through the silver-green underbrush, following the dimly discerned line of monuments. Even with the sword’s incredibly keen blade it was hard work, and he was soon soaked with sweat.
All about the Babylonian loomed overgrown mounds, the jungle choked ruins of some long forgotten race. Fortunately, Assur’s mind and body possessed the resilience of healthful youth - despite the dangers and ordeals, he now felt exhilarated at being the first man of Earth to tread upon this unknown land. Doggedly, he forged ahead, forcing a path through the tangled verdure.
Pausing to rest, he wiped the sweat from his brow, enjoying an unexpected cool breeze that brought welcome relief from the stifling heat. Suddenly, the breeze increased to a strong wind that lashed the jungle. Darkness, like a black cloth, wrapped itself about the world.
Assur looked up in disbelief. The sky - one moment bright sunshine - was now transformed as if by magic into a boiling mass of black clouds that blotted out all light.
Black rain began to fall in driving sheets that struck him with stinging force, and in the heavens pinwheels of crimson fire – the weird lightning of this strange world – exploded into being and plunged downwards, drawn moonward like iron to a loadstone.
One whirling disc of spitting flame struck a tree nearby, blasting its crown to matchwood. Splinters from the jungle giant, as deadly as arrows, flew in all directions.
“I’ve got to find shelter, and fast,” thought Assur, as an arm length fragment of wood speared into the earth a short distance from his prone body.
He spied a huge hollow log illuminated by the flare of the unnatural lightning. Sword drawn, he hurriedly crawled within, only to find it was the abode of some nameless terror. The creature, a formless membrane of tough rubbery flesh, enveloped him in its horrid embrace.
He tried to strike with his sword, but found it was pinned to his body by the constricting flesh. Hampered by the confines of the creature’s membrane and blinded by the darkness, he fought by touch alone. Raw panic threatened to consume him as he thrashed madly about, and it was only by employing his iron will that he reined in his fear.
The thing was smothering him in its fleshy folds, and he knew he had only moments to live. With all his strength he thrust the sword through the slug-like thing, and ripped the blade downward, freeing himself. Blood sprayed everywhere, its stench like that of burning sulfur.
Gasping for air, and backing out hurriedly, Assur emerged into the gently falling rain. He stood shivering, and not just from the cold liquid that sluiced away the sickly green blood in which he was covered. The storm had passed, but he felt his ordeals had just begun.
The passing of another half hour found him gazing upon a growth-smothered ruin. It was a pyramid of gray cyclopean blocks carved in the form of leering skulls. There was a presence about the place that touched him like the finger of a giant, oppressing him with its very massiveness and brutality.
Cautiously, he approached the gaping portal, cutting away several thick vines that oozed a resinous sap, and peered within. Here and there shafts of sunlight pierced the gloom, disclosing a vast open space surprisingly clean, as if the very jungle feared to enter this abode of unknown deities.
Gripping his sword firmly, Assur stepped within. In the shadows loomed the image of a god wrought in ebon metal, a blacker mass that stood apart from the surrounding darkness. As he advanced the image resolved itself into a hideous idol that squatted upon a dais encrusted with precious gems.
To the Babylonian’s eyes the body resembled that of an ape, but covered with scales instead of hair. A thick spiral horn protruded from between the shoulders where a head and neck should have been, and in the middle of its chest was a single eye of amber crystal that seemed to glare at Assur with malignant sight. He shuddered involuntarily, and wondered who or what would worship such a being.
Around its horn hung the amulet – a bronze disc the size of a man’s palm, with a clear jewel set in its center.
“That can wait,” thought Assur as he stooped and, using the tip of his sword began levering out gems from the jewel-encrusted dais, and transferring them to a pouch at his belt.
The sudden sound of metal grating on metal made him look up. To his horror he beheld the idol coming to life, its huge claw-like hands, large as millstones, reaching out to seize him in a crushing grasp.
Chapter 4: Treachery Unmasked
Leaping back, Assur barely avoided the grasping talons. Swinging his sword in a whirling arc he struck at its thick wrist. The blade rebounded with a resounding clang, jarring his arm. He swore profusely.
The Idol reared to its full height. It towered above him, dark and menacing, animated with unnatural life. Its jointed limbs rasped - the sound a sinister echo in the dark confines of the temple. Its single eye now pulsed with amber light.
Heart beating wildly, Assur backed hurriedly away as it stepped with ponderous tread from the dais and advanced upon him, powerful hands flexing, eager to crush and rend this rash intruder who dared violate the sanctity of its shrine.
Conflicting emotions surged through the Babylonian like a raging tide – to stand and fight, but how to fight a god, or to flee? But he knew he dared not turn his back upon the thing.
Then, as it bent forward and swung an iron hard hand to crush his body, Assur, more by instinct than reasoned thought saw his only chance. He ducked low, the wicked claws passing within an inch of his head; then sprinting forward he hurled the sword with all his strength at its glowing optic, and dashed between its mighty legs.
The air was rent by a deafening explosion. A fountain of sparks erupted from its shattered eye, now a gaping hole where half its chest had been blown away. The idol staggered drunkenly, and then fell upon its back with a thunderous crash that shook the very earth.
After a time Assur struggled unsteadily to his feet, for he was still partially stunned from the shattering report. The Babylonian uttered a prayer of thanks to the gods when he saw the idol was a smoking ruin - as lifeless as any statue now the jewel containing its animating forces had been destroyed.
He cautiously approached the smoldering hulk, the acrid fumes stinging his eyes and nose. Looking within the shattered body he puzzled over the many glass tubes and gears, now fused and blackened almost beyond recognition.
"What strange magic is this," he murmured, "that could bring such a thing to life?"
Assur's musings were cut short by a shower of dust, then an ominous rumble followed by larger detritus. The temple, weakened by explosive concussions, was beginning to collapse around him. Huge blocks of stone began to fall in a rain of death, kicking up dust and peppering him with flying shards.
Grabbing the amulet – there was no time to look for the sword - he sprinted for the door, dodging and leaping over fallen masonry with the agility of a gazelle. Despite the choking dust that obscured his vision, he made the exit. Leaping through it he ran into the jungle as the roof roared down in an avalanche of stone, its shuddering impact sending him tumbling to the dark earth.
There he lay, exhausted, his sweat mingling with the blood from a dozen stinging gashes wrought by flying chips of stone.
“The gods must smile on fools,” he thought. “For who but a fool would get himself into such a mess.”
When his strength returned, Assur stood and hung the amulet about his neck. Leaning against a tree, he examined the thing and wondered why the sorcerer valued it so highly. The bronze disc, apart from the strange hieroglyphics etched into its surface, was quite ordinary in appearance. The jewel in its center was as clear as glass, and might be so for all he knew.
Shrugging his broad shoulders he began retracing his steps. Amnon-Nur was not a fool - the amulet was obviously no mere bauble, but lacking the sorcerer’s arcane knowledge Assur knew it would remain a mystery to him. And when he delivered it would Amnon-Nur keep his word? Ah, that too was a mystery …
Arriving at the beach he found the elemental hovering where he had left it. He eyed it distrustfully. True, it had saved his life, but only to serve its master’s ends. He fumed silently at being used, even though he realized the fault was mostly his.
Holding the amulet aloft, he called. "I have what Amnon-Nur desires, now take me home."
The being's tentacles snaked out like whips to snatch the amulet from Assur's grasp.
"I think not, my friend," he said as he leaped out of reach. "I'll be keeping this until I hand it to your master."
Waves of anger rippled out from the elemental, striking Assur like a fist. In its wordless way it conveyed to him the idea it was to destroy him at the sorcerer's command, and then return with the amulet to Amnon-Nur.
One of its tentacles swung in Assur’s direction and stiffened. From its tip shot a glowing sphere of violet light that sped towards the Babylonian, who flung up his arm in a futile gesture of defense. Too late the sorcerer’s treachery was unmasked.
Chapter 5: A Perilous Shore
There was an explosion of sound and light that dazzled Assur’s eyes and made him reel. He staggered blindly and fell to his knees, fighting to regain his senses. Slowly, his vision cleared and he looked about, amazed that he was still alive.
The elemental lay upon the sand, a glowing heap of fused glass-like matter, as if the destructive energies had rebounded to consume it with malignant force. Rising unsteadily to his feet Assur grasped the amulet and looked at it, the truth slowly dawning upon him.
He knew Amnon-Nur would not surrender such a thing so easily. Indeed, at this very moment the sorcerer, possibly aware of what had happened, might be dispatching another of his minions to complete the task. He went cold at the thought, but what could he do to counter such plans? As he ruminated, his hand brushed against the bag of jewels at his hip, and they lent inspiration to his thoughts. Quickly, he ducked under the cover of some thick bushes and translated his idea into action.
A short time later Assur emerged once again from the jungle. Above him hung the ghostly orb of the Earth, and at its sight the reality of his situation crashed down upon him. Before he had been swept along by the sheer rapidity of events, but now he had time to think he began to realize how tired, filthy and alone he actually was, marooned on a strange and perilous shore.
His most immediate concern was his injuries, they were minor, true, but he had seen men die from infected wounds – it was neither quick nor pleasant. An old soldier had once told him that unclean cuts attracted disease-causing demons. He eyed the dark sea uncertainly; its waters might be deadly poison, but what other choice did he have?
Assur walked towards the hissing waves. Kneeling, he gingerly allowed the black tide to surge about his hand; the liquid was very warm, almost hot. The waves retreated revealing extremely clean and strangely dry skin. Emboldened, he waded into the churning surf and washed the grime from his body and raiment.
The sea was invigorating - the strange dense fluid from which it was composed made his skin tingle with vibrant life. It washed away his fatigue; but he dare not swallow any of its dark fluid - that would be tempting fate too far (It was much later that he learnt the liquid was only safe to drink from streams.)
Having completed his ablutions, Assur waded ashore. Without warning, something fastened upon his leg with a vice-like grip and dragged him beneath the stygian waves. Kicking out in a wild panic, he felt his sandaled foot strike something soft. There was a momentary release of pressure about his leg, and with a desperate wrench he broke free, surging shoreward through the grasping waves, not daring to look back.
Staggering to the beach he spun about, confronting his unknown assailant. The thing, slightly taller than himself, emerged from the sea at his very heels. Beneath its black dome-shaped carapace were eight long jointed legs ending in powerful claws, and about the circumference of the dome were rods of equal number – its sensory organs; one of which dangled limply, oozing a sickly yellow fluid.
“By the gods,” he thought, fighting down his fear. “What monstrous beasts this dark world has spawned.”
Undaunted by the injury he had inflicted upon it, the leth lumbered towards him, several claws extended. Assur jumped aside, snatched up a length of stout driftwood, and managed to deliver a smashing blow that struck one armored leg, but without effect.
Again it came for him, this time more warily, circling and trying to drive him back into the ocean where the disadvantage would be his. Assur considered his situation. The creature was slow, but persistent, and he could feel the invigorating effects of the sea wearing off. He was rapidly tiring, and knew he must do something soon.
He sprinted for a steep bolder strewn slope not far down the beach, wild hope lending wings to his feet, the leth in hot pursuit. Mounting the acclivity, he struggled up the ascent until he could go no further. Turning, he saw the thing climbing the slope. Assur jammed the driftwood staff beneath a large rock and threw his weight upon the lever. The rock moved a little, a little more, and then rolled free.
The Babylonian’s heart sank as he watched the bolder tumble towards the creature, only to miss it by many feet. But its careening mass had dislodged other stones that, in turn, had loosened even more sending an avalanche of thundering rock hurtling down upon the leth, sweeping it away and grinding it to bloody ruin in a stony flood.
**********
Assur awoke and stretched his cramped limbs. He had taken to sleeping in the trees to avoid the savage denizens of the jungle, binding his body into the forks of stout branches with lianas.
For his breakfast he picked a fruit from the tree -one of the many palatable kinds he had found – it was egg-shaped and dark brown in color, the firm white flesh tasting like cream. Others, full of sweet juices, quenched his thirst.
He was now many miles away from the temple, and had been traveling along the coast for a considerable length of time – when he had to sleep five times during daylight hours Assur soon realized that the lunar day was many times longer than that of Earth.
Suddenly, just as he was about to cast away the core of the fruit, sounds of rapid movement through the underbrush came to his sensitive ears; the noise coming from beneath the tree in which he was ensconced. Looking down he spied a party of what were plainly savages in pursuit of a girl.
Fascinated, he observed them closely, remembering the sorcerer’s words that there were other swords - and therefore the makers of swords - upon this world. Were they human? He thought so, despite their strange appearance.
The five had the forms of men, but their hairless skin was dark purple in color and covered in patterns of ugly ritual scars. They were armed with crude flint spears and knives, their only item of apparel being obscenely large genital-sheathes made from black gourds that were secured by bands passing between their legs and about their waists.
Assur’s eyes flicked to the girl. She, too, had dark purple skin, but was clothed in a brief white robe, now tattered and soiled, but still marking her as the child of a more cultured race than that of her rude pursuers.
Swiftly ran the girl, slipping agilely between the boles of huge trees, and leaping gracefully over fallen branches, sunlight intermittently flashing from the gold chain about her neck. She was far fleeter than the lumbering brutes that bulldozed a path in her wake. But then to Assur’s horror, disaster struck – the girl’s foot unexpectedly caught in a hidden root that sent her crashing to the ground with stunning force.
Before she could climb to her feet the savages were upon her. Grabbing her roughly they quickly tied her spread-eagled to the ground using gnarled tree roots as anchor points. The girl struggled wildly in her cruel bonds, her screams shattering the stillness of the jungle as the leader of the pack ripped away her clothes. Drooling in anticipation of the feast to come, the brute seized one firm young breast in crushing grip, and pressed his flint knife against the quivering flesh …
Chapter 6: The Purple Girl
A blow that shattered his thick skull ended the savage leader’s thoughts. Armed with his staff, Assur fell upon the cannibals with the fury of a raging lion. It was if a jungle devil had descended upon them, and such slaughter did he wreck amongst that barbarous band that only one escaped to flee howling into the thick underbrush, his terrified screams fading into the distance.
Assur turned to the girl. Her large dark eyes regarded him with a mixture of fear and curiosity as he examined her carefully. She possessed a certain strange beauty, subtly different from the daughters of Earth, but difficult to precisely define. Her hair, black and glossy as a raven’s wing was woven into a single waist length braid, her skin, dark purple, was hairless, smooth and unblemished
“She may,” he thought, “be a few years older than me, perhaps twenty.”
Despite her strangeness, he was aroused by her femininity. Their eyes locked for an instant, and strong desire, like an invisible current, passed between them. The girl’s eyes dropped, breaking the union. More practical matters were at hand.
The lingering effects of the experience still upon him (was it love or lust?), Assur bent and reached for the dead savage’s knife. The girl tensed. He spoke to her reassuringly, realizing that although his language was probably meaningless, the tone of his voice would convey benevolent intentions.
She smiled weakly as he cut the thongs that cruelly bound her wrists and ankles, replying to his speech in an unknown tongue of soft melodious tones as he helped her to her feet. The girl glanced at the blood-splattered corpses, and shuddered as she wrapped her ripped garments hastily about her shapely figure.
Averting her eyes form the scene of slaughter, she motioned Assur to follow her. Slipping the flint knife into his belt and picking up an extra spear he complied, enjoying the sight of her body in fluid motion. When they were many yards away, she turned and regarded the Babylonian intently. Never had she seen such a man – so strangely colored and with unusual but not unhandsome features. Her curiosity was aroused and, too, perhaps other things she did not dare admit.
Slowly, she moved towards Assur and placed her hands on either side of his head, drawing him to her. He thought for a moment she wished to kiss him but, to his disappointment, that idea was soon dispelled when her forehead touched his, and a flood of strange scenes, ideas and concepts swept into his mind. It was as if all his thoughts were being transformed by a racing torrent of psychic force. He grew faint, dropped the looted weapons and clung to the girl. Her full breasts pressed against him as the world eddied towards darkness, and then he knew no more…
Assur regained consciousness slowly. He found himself lying on the soft earth, his head pillowed in the girl’s lap.
“Can you understand my speech now, oh stranger?”
“Why, why yes. But how is this possible?” was his surprised reply, and he was even more amazed when he realized that her own language came easily to his lips, as if he had learnt it from earliest childhood.
The girl smiled as he rose to a sitting position.
“My people have mental powers that enable us under certain conditions to transfer thoughts from one mind to another. All thoughts are electrical impulses; they can be focused and directed at will to impinge directly upon the mind of another. It requires much training but, as you see, it is possible.
“But I should really begin by thanking you for saving my life, and by introducing myself. I am Lunala of Rin, a large island in the Sea of Shadows. I was visiting the mainland in search of rare blooms – a hobby of mine – when my sky-boat mysteriously lost power and crashed. Before I could repair the craft those beasts found me and I was forced to flee. But enough of me …”
At Lunala’s subtle suggestion, Assur quickly outlined his origin and adventures since his arrival on the Moon, wondering if such a fantastic tale would be believed, but deciding that complete honesty, no matter how strange it seemed, would serve him better than any falsehood.
She listened carefully, not seeming at all surprised by his account, and when he had finished, replied:
“Our savants have known for many years that your world, Theru, as we call it, harbors life. That some forms have developed minds and bodies similar to our own upon Selen, this world of ours, is merely the unfolding of Nature’s laws. But enough philosophy, we should leave here ere the savages return.”
As Lunala was about to rise she felt something brush against her arm. It was a blue star-shaped flower six inches across that had fallen from a nearby tree. Its heady perfume, sickly sweet, filled the air.
The girl recoiled from its touch as if it was a deadly serpent. “It’s a yasan,” she gasped. “The slightest touch brings violent madness …”
Before she could say more Lunala’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and her body arched in violent spasms. Assur sought to still her thrashing form. Suddenly, she went limp and as he relaxed his grip upon her arms her eyes snapped open, the look of madness in them.
Her knee drove at his groin and her teeth sought his throat. The blow caught Assur in the thigh. He grunted in pain as he grabbed Lunala’s hair and pulled her snapping jaws from his neck. Her robe fell open, exposing her pear-shaped breasts, distracting him further.
He was hampered by not wanting to hurt the girl, even though he realized she probably meant to kill him.
“Gods,” he thought as he struggled with her. “I hope her insanity is only temporary.”
They rolled in a tangle of limbs, Assur trying to subdue the girl who bit, scratched and screamed like a wild inhuman thing, the bloody marks upon his flesh testimony to her blind unreasoning savagery.
A slight breeze loosened more of the deadly flowers, and they began to drift and fall about them in a slow but unrelenting rain. Seeing there was no choice, Assur straddled Lunala and struck her on the chin, rendering her senseless. Then, slinging her across his shoulder he fought his way through the clutching verdure, using his spear to knock aside the falling blossoms directly in his path.
Several times his foot caught on roots and he nearly fell, at others the poisonous flowers came within inches of his naked skin. Fear for Lunala’s safety and his own spurred him on.
At what he judged a safe distance, he gently placed Lunala on the ground and bound her limbs with strips of cloth torn from the hem of her robe. Then he sat down to wait. It was an anxious half hour before Lunala regained consciousness. She moaned softly and opened her eyes. They were lucid, as was her speech.
“I’m all right now”, she said weakly. “Best we depart this savage land in all haste. I think I can find my sky-boat and repair it. Why don’t you come with me?”
“Gladly,” he replied, relief evident in his voice.
**********
After an extensive search lasting three sleep-periods, during which they were forced to hide from several bands of savages, Lunala had at last begun to recognize familiar landmarks, one of which was a gently flowing stream of ebon fluid by whose banks they had stopped to rest.
According to the girl her sky-boat was just behind a small hill on the opposite bank and, as she had expressed the desire to bathe before continuing, Assur wandered off a short distance to grant her privacy.
It seemed their journey was coming to an end. Would he see Lunala again when she was once more among her people? She was a fascinating girl. Although, highly cultured, he suspected that beneath her calm exterior smoldered passions under tight restraint. She was obviously from a well to do family - merchants perhaps? He wasn’t sure. His attempts to elect information on her private life had been artfully diverted into different paths of enquiry, as if she did not wish him to know who she really was.
Deep in thought, he did not notice the strange plant as he passed it by – it was goblet shaped and twice as tall as a man. Ropy tendrils radiated from the base of its thick stem, which was partly concealed by large oval leaves of silver-green.
Unknowingly, Assur trod upon one of the tendrils, triggering the plant into violent motion. He gave a yell of surprise as the thick fibrous cables that had been lying placidly whipped about his body with alarming speed and strength, hauling him aloft. The top of the weird growth opened like a giant clam, disclosing an interior that was filled with a green fuming liquid, and towards this his struggling form was carried.
Chapter 7: Creatures of the Air
Assur’s scalp prickled with horror. He thrust his spear down the awful orifice with every ounce of strength he possessed. Again and again he stabbed, each time striking deeply but with little effect, each blow becoming more and more desperate as he was drawn closer and closer to the gaping mouth.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a blur of motion. A spear hissed beneath him, thudding into the stem of the plant where the nerves connected the subterranean brain – a modified root - to the rest of its body. It shivered violently, like a man caught in fever’s grip, and Assur fell heavily to the ground as the tendrils about his body went limp.
Soft arms went about his neck, and muffled sobbing came to his ears through the dark veil of Lunala’s hair.
“Steady girl, I’m not badly hurt,” he said as he stroked the sensuous lines of her back, intimately aware of her nude body as she clung tightly to him.
Lunala wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at him with a quivering smile.
“I thought I was too late, I thought the ver had killed you,” and then irrelevantly “Oh, I must look a mess.”
“Never a more lovely mess have I ever seen,” and then impulsively, he kissed her.
For a moment she was surprised; then slowly began to respond with passion. A soft moan escaped her lips as he cupped her firm breasts and began kissing her nipples, which swelled under his swirling tongue. Then, reluctantly, she slowly pushed him away.
“I’m sorry, I can’t”, she sobbed. “You don’t know who I really am, and the fault is mine. It’s just that I wished for a short time to escape the weighty responsibilities of state, to be just an ordinary girl, to be liked for who I am, not because of what I am…”
“And who are you really?”
“I am Lunala Pratem, Queen of Rin.”
A silence stretched between them for a time.
Assur sighed deeply, and forced a smile.
“Well, we had both best take a cool bath in the stream before continuing on, don’t you think?”
Half an hour found them within sight of the sky-boat. Fortunately Lunala had managed to bring the craft down in a grove of feathery pomu trees, whose soft leaves and branches had broken her fall. The vessel now lay on its keel in the underbrush, surrounded by the sapped limbs that had slowed its descent.
To Assur’s eyes the sky-boat resembled a fish turned on its side. Its twenty-foot long oval body, ten feet at its widest point, was made of a tough yellow silk-like fabric stretched over a light wooden framework. Attached to the body were sets of vertical fins aft, and horizontal ones along the sides. Two cockpits were positioned one behind the other, deep enough so that only the head and shoulders of the occupants protruded.
The Queen explained: “The two large magenta discs you see mounted fore and aft are made from vitrusa, a special glass. They convert sunlight into an etheric force that flows via copper wires to a grid of metherim alloy. When the grid is energized it radiates a repulsive force that lifts the craft into the air. The sphere of metherim alloy you see projecting from the stern is also powered by the vitrusa discs, and provides forward thrust. Steering the craft is accomplished with the fins, speed and altitude by increasing or decreasing the strength of the etheric force.”
“Ingenious,” remarked Assur, realizing the banality of his reply. He was still coming to terms with Lunala’s revelation that had left his mind a swirl of conflicting emotions – the desire to possess her as a woman and the knowledge that, as Queen, she was forever beyond his reach. He sat quietly on a rock, watching her open panels in the craft’s sides and peer within.
Lunala swore luridly, and turned to Assur as he came to her side.
“Look at this,” she cried, her eyes flashing. “Someone has smeared a corrosive paste over the main power conduit. It was slowly eaten away by the acid, cutting off the etheirc force to the grid. Little wonder my craft crashed. This is sabotage, attempted murder!”
“Who would do such a thing?”
Her full lips compressed into a thin line. “I don’t know, but believe me I intend finding out. Fortunately, I can use my gold necklace to bridge the gap. The other damage is negligible, so we’ll be airborne in a few minutes.”
The repairs were nearly complete when the stillness of the jungle was broken by hellish war cries as a band of six savages burst through the undergrowth twenty yards to the rear.
“Hold them off,” shouted Lunala. I need more time.”
A spear thudded into the earth at Assur’s feet. He wrenched it from the soil and hurled it at the charging primitives. It struck one full in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
“Done,” yelled Lunala as she jumped into the cockpit. “Climb aboard.”
Assur dodged another spear and hurled his own, felling a second savage. The rest came on, undaunted by their sudden losses. One, perhaps braver or more foolhardy than the rest, grabbed the vessel’s stern as it rose into the air. The others fell back jabbering in consternation at the unexpected sight.
The sky-boat cleared the treetops as Kav hauled himself to the deck of the craft. Holding his flint knife between his teeth he crawled along its length, determined to die a warrior’s death and thus ensure the rebirth of his soul.
Assur, seeing the savage’s plan and determined not to let him come within striking distance of Lunala, had also crawled out upon the deck.
“Get back in here,” yelled Lunala. “I’ll send the sky-boat into a steep climb and he’ll tumble off.”
But it was too late. The two men were now grappling on the narrow swaying deck. There was nothing she could do but hold the craft steady and hope Assur would be victorious.
Kav fought to drive his point downwards into Assur’s chest, while Assur struggled to stab upwards into his opponent’s guts. Both had risen to their feet, each clutched the other’s knife-hand at the wrist, each fought to unbalance the other and deliver a fatal thrust.
Assur could feel his feet slipping under the relentless force of his adversary’s powerful muscles. Kav grinned, bearing teeth filed to points; confident victory would soon be his.
The Babylonian caught his opponent by surprise. Dropping his own flint knife, he grabbed the hand of Kav that gripped his wrist, and placed his foot upon the savage's stomach as he fell. Assur landed on his back, pulling Kav down with him, and at the same time straightened the leg upon his foe's belly, hurling the brute over his head and to his death.
“You damn fool,” cried Lunala as he climbed into the cockpit. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”
Assur’s only response was an infuriating grin.
Soon the sky-boat was winging its way swiftly and silently across the dark sea towards the distant island of Rin. Assur looked down at the sable waves far below, the wind whipping his hair and blurring his vision with tears, forcing him to don the cumbersome goggles that Lunala had provided.
They flew onward in silence. It was impossible to talk – the wind of their passage through the air whipped words away. As the flight was long, Lunala locked the controls and both took refuge from boredom by dozing lightly.
Assur woke with a start. Somehow he sensed danger was near. Looking about he saw an object at a slightly higher altitude almost directly in their path – it was a fuzzy sphere of filament comprised of branching hollow rods, which were translucent green and filled with a lifting gas that kept the thing aloft.
Leaning forward, Assur shook Lunala awake and pointed at the sphere. It was at least two hundred yards across, and although the thing looked harmless enough he felt that somehow it posed a threat.
She grumbled sleepily at first, and then came wide-awake at the sight of the sphere, instantly recognizing it as an annth. These strange plants, which evolution had freed from the bondage of the soil, took their nutriment from the dust and water vapor of the air. They were not usually found in these latitudes. Freak winds, however, had blown this one from its usual abode thus catching them unaware.
The real danger was not from the plant itself but from other creatures of the air, the zarusa – symbiotic animals that fed upon the secretions from its special glands, and in return guarded their host from other aerial herbivores that sought to feed upon it.
Now, seeing the sky-boat as a threat, they boiled out in an angry swarm and hurled themselves towards the helpless craft.
Chapter 8: City of Intrigue
The zarusa flew towards them, crimson bullet-shaped things propelled not by wings, but by compressed air from six powerful lungs. Their yard long bodies, encased in tough chitin, were living projectiles they used to kill their foes by ramming into them.
Lunala sat tensely at the controls carefully judging the rapidly closing distance of the approaching swarm, knowing what she must do, and that the slightest error would end their lives.
Assur watched the dangerously looming zarusa with growing alarm, wondering why Lunala had not changed their course.
“Gods,” he thought. “I hope she knows what she is doing.”
The swarm flashed passed with an angry roar, missing them narrowly as, at the last possible moment, Lunala swung the sky-boat hard to port and plunged the craft into a steep dive that caused it to vibrate alarmingly under the dangerous strain of its mad descent.
Looking back, Assur saw the zarusa had come about - an angry red cloud that grew ominously with each passing second. Below, the ocean swelled – a vast black maw into which their tiny craft was falling. To the Babylonian it seemed they were caught between the very jaws of death.
Closer and closer rushed the zarusa, nearer and nearer the dark sea. Then, just as Assur thought they would plunge beneath the waves, Lunala pulled the sky-boat from its suicidal dive and soared towards the heavens.
The zarusa, possessing swiftness but lacking maneuverability and unable to stop their headlong rush or turn in time, struck the sea in a hail of bodies that churned the waves to foam.
Lunala relaxed her grip on the controls, and wiped the sweat from her palms. She turned to Assur, and he grinned at her. They both burst out laughing. It was a form of relief from the tension of death’s imminence.
After another hour’s flight an island appeared on the horizon. At first it was just a dot; then slowly grew in size, resolving itself into a crescent shaped landmass of considerable extent covered in lush jungle that flung itself in wild abandon against a coastal chain of rugged mountains.
The sky-boat arched in a graceful curve as Lunala turned its prow towards the northern tip of Rin. Shortly, their speed diminished as a coastal city came into view. The buildings were domes of rose-colored stone, each surrounded by lush gardens filled with brilliant color. Far below them lay the city’s mass, broken by wide tree lined streets paved with milky cobbles. At its heart lay a single enormous circular plaza fringed with spreading stately trees, and at its center rose a large terraced cone - the palace - its gilded apex reflecting spears of light.
Beyond the city’s high walls lay the fields of its territory, the rich soil providing bountiful harvests, and in the bay strange ships lay at anchor, their white sails neatly furled.
As their craft spiraled towards the uppermost terrace of the palace in lazy descent, Assur spied figures waiting for them – one, a stranger in scarlet robes, the others in glossy ebon armor. Lunala brought the sky-boat to rest within a few yards of the group, and no sooner had its runners touched the lavender sward of the terrace garden than she leapt from the craft to embrace the crimson clad man.
She turned to Assur as he followed “This is my twin brother, Prince Azmonaz, whom I feared I would never see again.”
Azmonaz regarded her, his aristocratic features marred by the cruel smile that curved his lips. He had planned for the possibility that she might, by some miracle return, and had posted lookouts equipped with optic-tubes about the palace.
“I can’t say I reciprocate your feelings, sister dear.” And then, sarcastically: “Any trouble with your sky-boat?”
Lunala stepped away from him, disbelief written large upon her face. “You’ve always been ambitious, but never did I think you’d stoop to this. Guards …”
“Enough! You are no longer Queen. Loyal followers, arrest the wench and convey her to the Arena of the Beast; the stranger to the dungeons.”
With a curse upon his lips Assur leapt forward to seize the usurper, meaning to use him as a hostage, only to be blocked by a burly warrior. The man, like his fellows, was clad neck to knee in scale armor, his head protected by a leering helmet-mask.
Lunala screamed as the guard lunged at Assur, weapon extended. But the Babylonian twisted agilely aside, caught the warrior’s sword arm, and threw him heavily to the ground.
“Damn this city of intrigue,” he thought.
“Run for the sky-boat”, he shouted to the girl as he wrenched the sword from his assailant’s nerveless fingers and charged the converging guards. One man went down, dark blood spurting from a slit throat, whilst the other three encircled him.
“Not while you’re in danger,” cried Lunala, throwing herself fearlessly upon a warrior about to stab Assur in the back. Snatching a dagger from the guard’s belt she plunged it into his neck. A gurgling cry burst from the man’s lips as he collapsed upon the lawn.
“Take them alive. They shall perish in the arena,” shouted Azmonaz, who had summoned more guards from the interior of the palace. These were armed with pincer tipped staves that caught Assur’s and Lunala’s limbs in a vice-like grip, subduing them with ease.
The last thing Assur saw was Lunala’s tear stained face as they were dragged apart. “I’ll always love you,” she cried.
He struggled fiercely for a moment, then a rock hard fist crashed against his skull, plunging him into oblivion.
Chapter 9: Death in the Dungeons
Assur regained consciousness as he was being taken down a flight of steps that led to the dungeons far below the palace. Two burly guardsmen were carrying him while two others marched front and back with drawn swords. His hands and feet had been bound tightly with cords, and his head ached abominably.
Feigning insensibility, he thought “No point in struggling. I must remain calm, and think carefully if I am to have any chance of rescuing Lunala.”
Reaching the foot of the steps his captors manhandled him along a wide passage lined with cells from which other prisoners peered. One, a young man who bore a striking resemblance to Lunala, called tauntingly to the guards:
“Another man who hates the usurper? If my brother kills all those who oppose him he’ll have no one to rule but you vermin.”
“Quiet you scum,” yelled the warrior bringing up the rear, his sword striking the bars for emphasis.
The prisoner’s derisive reply was lost to Assur, for at that very moment he was cast into a gloomy cell, the door slamming behind him. When he was sure the guards had departed he began working at his bonds. With much sweating and silent cursing he managed to work his hands from behind his back and under his buttocks to the front. In a few minutes he had chewed through the cords, and loosened the bindings about his ankles.
Free of his restraints, Assur began to explore his cell. It was a circular chamber about fifteen feet across. In the dim white light cast by squares of luminescent metal, he could see the room was completely bare except for a length of grimy chain that vanished up into the shadow-shrouded ceiling.
Despair was a heavy weight upon him, for he was tormented by the knowledge of Lunala’s fate, the sudden realization of his love for her, and the certainty that even if rescued, her station would place her beyond his reach. Sighing deeply, he sat down and racked his brains for a solution to his predicament.
**********
After an interminable period of time footfalls broke the silence of the gloom. The door of the cell creaked open and a guard entered. The man’s eyes widened in astonishment – the cell was empty. Cautiously, the warrior entered the chamber, sword drawn, eyes darting this way and that.
Without warning, sandaled feet drove into the guard’s head, breaking his neck and smashing him to the floor. Assur, who had been hiding above in the concealing darkness, had released his grip upon the chain, falling upon his prey like a hawk. In one fluid motion he snatched up the man’s sword and rushed the door. Before the two remaining guards could react he was upon them, stabbing and slashing in a frenzy of powerful blows. They fell like wheat before the scythe, tumbling to the stones in a welter of gore.
Grabbing a set of keys from one of the corpses, he approached the cell in which the young man was imprisoned. Unlocking the door he flung it wide and quickly explained to the youth Lunala’s fate and his desire to rescue her, concluding:
“I heard what you said to the guards, I trust I can count on your help in this desperate enterprise?”
The young man appraised Assur carefully. Despite his strange appearance, he seemed trustworthy and sincere. “If Lunala still lives then Azron be praised,” he thought.
“I am Prince Meren, Lunala’s youngest brother. I know of a secret way to the arena, but we must hurry, for the clash of swords will have roused the remaining guards. Free the other prisoners. They too are loyal to the former Queen.”
The ten prisoners, fee men once more, distributed the remaining weapons from the warriors Assur had slain to the best swordsmen among themselves. Then, Assur and Meren in the lead, the group sped silently down the corridor, only to encounter the four remaining warriors from the guardroom moving with equal haste to investigate the sounds of fighting.
At the sight of the enraged prisoners, their erstwhile jailers turned to flee, but weighed down by heavy armor, were quickly overtaken and slain to the last man, their desperate cries for help cut short by striking fists and blades.
It was sheer butchery, and although he knew it was necessary, Meren was still sickened by the sight.
“Quickly,” he called, pointing. “The guardroom is over there.”
Entering the chamber, Meren grasped one of the illumination plates mounted on the rear wall.
“Assur,” he called. “Grab the other plate and, on the count of three, we must both turn them to the right. Ready; one, two, three…”
The plates moved stiffly under their bulging muscles. There was a click, and the sound of ponderous machinery in operation came to the ears of the tensely waiting men. A section of the wall opened, and they filed within the dimly lit secret way.
“Will the population,” queried Assur, “stand idly by, and watch Lunala being killed? Will they simply do nothing?”
“There is little they can do,” replied Meren. “My brother has been legally crowned King. Oh, don’t look at me with raised eyebrows. We thought her dead, even found the wreckage of a sky-boat in the sea. By the time I realized Azmonaz had given false directions to our search parties and that the vessel was not Lunala’s, it was too late – those of us who suspected him of treachery were arrested and imprisoned. But even so he will, I think, conceal her identity in some way, for it is a shameful thing he plans to do.”
"Then there is no one else who can aid her?"
"No," replied Meren, bitterly. "Our parents are dead – Queen Vara, whilst giving birth to me; King Uram a year hence, shortly after naming Lunala his successor, much to the chagrin of Azmonaz. In the light of what has happened, I now believe our father died of subtle poison, not of illness as we had thought."
Jogging with a steady pace, they traversed a maze of tunnels, eventually arriving at an upward leading flight of steps that were quickly mounted. Meren pressed his eye to the spy-hole of the concealed door.
“We’ve reached the arena,” he whispered to his companions. “The royal box is directly in front of this door. I see Azmonaz and six of his bodyguards.”
Azmonaz lounged on his gilded seat, enjoying himself immensely. All of his carefully laid plans had come to fruition, and now he was going to have the pleasure of watching his sister, whom he had always envied and hated, dying a horrible death.
Suddenly, a screaming sword wielding mob that seemed to come from nowhere rudely interrupted his sadistic fantasies. They swept down upon him and his men in a tidal wave of destruction. The royal box erupted into wild tumult – blade rang against blade, men cursed, others died. Without hesitation, Meren ran his brother through. Then, as the last bodyguard fell, all eyes were drawn to the arena by a deafening bestial roar.
Chapter 10: Arena of the Beast
The Babylonian gazed in horror at the drama unfolding on the arena’s sands. A naked woman stood under the blazing sun, her features obscured by a mask and gag, her hands shackled behind her back. Stalking her was a thing of nightmare – its feline body and hawk-like head covered in spines of darkest purple.
“Lunala,” cried Assur as he snatched up a spear and vaulted to the ground fifteen feet below, the soft sand and his strong legs absorbing the jarring impact of his fall. Springing erect he ran towards the laar, shouting and waving his weapon in a desperate attempt to distract the beast from its prey.
The laar swung about, annoyed that this puny thing should dare interrupt its hunt. Blood lust burned brightly in its tiny brain as its dark eyes fastened upon the running man. The creature’s beak yawned, disclosing rows of serrated triangular teeth. It charged, a thunderous roar exploding from its throat.
Time seemed to slow as Assur watched the laar bear down upon him. Motion became dreamlike - the spray of sand kicked up by its claws fell as if it were drifting dust, the crowd, like sleepwalkers, rose lethargically to their feet, their shouted exclamations strangely muffled.
“I must time this right,” he thought, feeling that never before had so much depended on the single cast of a spear. All his senses focused on the looming beast, now dangerously close, the glittering eyes clearly visible. Assur launched his weapon, hurled his body to one side.
An ear splitting roar erupted as the spear slammed into the laar’s eye and impaled its brain. The beast collapsed in a writhing heap. Its failing claws narrowly missed Assur as he rolled away.
The crowd, absorbed by the unexpected turn of events, failed to notice the strange form that floated in the sky above. Then, without warning, spheres of violet light exploded in their midst.
Meren gazed in disbelief as the arena erupted into screaming chaos – men and women, like demented beasts tore at one another, pushing, shoving and trampling in a frenzy of unbridled fear as they fought to escape the rain of death. Seeing there was nothing he could do except save himself and his men, the Prince ushered them within the safety of the secret passage and closed the door.
Looking up from where he lay, Assur saw the cone-shaped thing descending, its tentacles entwined about a robed figure it carried beneath its body. Assur went cold at the sight; it could only be but one man - the sorcerer, Amnon-Nur.
Amnon-Nur looked down upon the destruction he had wrought, a satisfied smile upon his cruel lips. No one would interfere with his plans, for the arena was empty now, except for the dead and dying, and they didn’t count.
Using his viewing sphere, he had managed to locate Assur after losing sight of him for a time, and was eager for an accounting for the trouble he had caused. Indeed, only the shedding of blood could quench the fires of the sorcerer’s anger at the invasion of his home, the death of his guardian, the destruction of his elemental, and having to undertake this hazardous journey to retrieve the amulet.
Assur ran towards Lunala as the sorcerer descended, but was too late. Having cunningly discerned the Babylonian’s feelings towards the girl, Amnon-Nur swooped down upon her as she turned to flee, seizing her as a hostage, and played his violet ray upon her naked loins to still her desperate struggles. The gag stifled her scream of agony as she collapsed to the ground.
“Stay where you are, boy! You have the amulet, now hand it over. You know what this ray can do.”
“Don’t harm the girl,” cried Assur, frantically. “You can have the amulet, but free her first.”
Amnon-Nur laughed darkly, pointing his crystal rod at Lunala, who had risen to her knees.
“You’re not in a position to bargain. Give me the amulet or she dies here and now.”
Assur tore the disc from about his neck and tossed it to the sorcerer. Amnon-Nur reached for the amulet as it flew towards him, eyes glittering in triumph, and in that moment of distraction Lunala slammed her foot into his groin. The sorcerer fell heavily, howling in pain as the girl sprinted for Assur and threw herself into his strong arms.
Amnon-Nur struggled to his feet, speechless with anger; unreasoning rage written large upon his cruel features. To suffer such indignity at the hands of what to him were lesser beings was the final goad that had driven him to the edge of madness. Raising his Rod of Power, he unleashed its terrible ray.
But as the searing bolt leapt from the crystal rod, there sprung into existence about Assur and Lunala a nimbus of silvery light from which the destructive energies were reflected, as if from a mirror, to bathe Amnon-Nur and his elemental with consuming force. There was a terrific thunderclap, then silence.
Assur rolled off Lunala, whose body he had shielded with his own. Helping the girl to her feet he quickly removed her mask and gag, and released the catch that locked the shackles about her wrists.
“How … how is it that we still live,” she gasped, looking at the charred corpse of the sorcerer and the fused remains of his elemental.
The Babylonian smiled as he removed the gem that had been concealed in his belt’s hidden pocket, and showed it to her.
“This is the true jewel from the amulet, and the real source of its protective power. I foresaw the possibility that Amnon-Nur would seek me out, and so I substituted the original with a similar gem from the temple of the Dark Idol.”
“You’re as cleaver as you are brave,” was all she could think to say, and then expressed her true feelings in wordless eloquence by kissing him with passion.
“You are Queen once more,” he said somewhat breathlessly as he gently pushed her away, and then recounted his escape with Meren’s help and how Azmonaz was slain.
“I renounce the throne. Let Meren rule instead. I have found something more precious than crowns.”
“And what is that?”
“Why you, of course. Now kiss me.”
And he did for quite some time.
THE END